After Insanity
by Shadows in the Light of Day
Summary: Russia's mansion is empty now. His family is gone, and he remains alone. As he questions himself, wondering whether he made the right choice in letting his family leave, the Baltics, Belarus, and Ukraine struggle to keep a hold on sanity and escape the demons they brought with them when they left Russia. After all, some things you simply cannot escape. Tie-in to "Soviet Insanity".
1. Lost Innocence

**Hey, guys! Guess what... Yep, new story! Well, not exactly... But sort of.**

 **This is the beginning of the oneshot collection I've been planning to write ever since I finished "Soviet Insanity". So, yes, this is a followup to that series.**

 **This particular oneshot focuses primarily on Latvia, as you'll see in a moment. I've been writing him a lot for "Written in Blood", and once this idea showed up, it just wouldn't leave.**

 **Also, I needed to comment on how warm and fuzzy your stomach feels after you drink alcohol. (My dad let me try it, okay? It was just a little.)**

 **So, warnings would be for... Underage drinking, mentions of past abuse, hinted self-harm/suicide attempts... Why am I even listing these? This is Baltic trio fanfiction written by me. It's not supposed to be pretty.**

 **Anyways, welcome to "After Insanity". Updates will be irregular, as I will update whenever I have a oneshot written, which could be... Who knows when? Whenever I decide to write a oneshot.**

 **I have a ton of ideas, though, so I'll probably update it sometime soon.**

 **Also, each update will be a oneshot, and they will not necessarily be in chronological order. My apologies.**

 **With that said, I hope you enjoy the first installment of "After Insanity".**

* * *

Sometimes, Latvia still drank. Even though he knew he shouldn't, even though he'd escaped Russia. Even though it was harder to get the alcohol now. He was trying to break the habit, really he was, but…

He needed the alcohol's influence sometimes. Not often, just a couple of shots now and then. Just enough to give him that warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach. Just enough to make him giggly. Just enough to erase his pain for a little while.

It did all this for him, and more. Alcohol was like Latvia's drug, and although he knew that this was a bad thing, he had to have it. He just couldn't resist.

He went without it for a while, right after he moved back into his own house. But then, one time, he went to Lithuania's house for the day. It wasn't too long after they had left Russia, and Lithuania… There was still something wrong with him. Something in the way he moved. Something in the way his hands shook every time he held a knife.

And it was something in the way he reacted to hearing Belarus' name that worried Latvia the most.

Latvia wasn't sure what had happened to Lithuania. He only knew that never before had he found alcohol in the older boy's cupboards.

But he did on this visit. He found vodka there, and a few other alcoholic beverages. He had never taken Lithuania for a drinker, but, then again, he had never expected to find Lithuania with fresh, blood-stained bandages round his wrists in the morning, either.

Latvia stole Lithuania's sole bottle of vodka and took it home with him. He knew there was no way Lithuania would blame him for the missing alcohol. The others-Belarus, Ukraine, and Estonia-had all seen Latvia drunk before. But Lithuania never had. It was the one way Latvia had protected his older brother. He had never let Lithuania see that he, Latvia, also had a dark side.

The vodka was gone a week later. Even though Latvia tried to drink it sparingly, the knowledge that it was right in his house was just too tempting.

For a couple of days after he finished the vodka, he was fine. Then, he found himself once again longing for just a bit of alcohol. Not much, just a small glass. Enough to warm his stomach and lift his spirits just a little, that was all he wanted. He always told himself that. And he always ended up drinking more than he needed.

So, he went to visit Lithuania again. This time, it was harder to get the alcohol. Lithuania seemed a little better this time, although Latvia noticed that he still wore bandages over both wrists. He fought the urge to ask Lithuania about them, only because, of course, he already knew. Latvia knew what those bandages were supposed to hide. He was not the child he appeared, not on the inside. And he knew why Lithuania wore those bandages.

He had planned to steal another bottle of alcohol and take it home with him. But, then, over dinner, Lithuania asked him something that surprised him, and Latvia saw a sad, tired look in the older boy's eyes as he spoke.

"Latvia, I need to ask you something," he said, "The last time you were here… You didn't happen to take a bottle of vodka home with you, did you?"

Latvia blinked, instantly putting on his most innocent look. When it came to keeping his alcoholism a secret from Lithuania, he was the world's best actor. If he had not been determined to keep his dark side a secret from Lithuania before, he was utterly resolute to do so now. He worried more, and seeing the bandages on Lithuania's wrists, he feared that any small incident might send the older Baltic over the edge. He didn't know what had been done to Lithuania close to the end, just before they had all left Russia. But he did know that after the escape, Lithuania had changed, and that he must not be pushed too far. Estonia and Ukraine had both made certain that Latvia understood that.

"Why?" Latvia asked, his tone innocent, "Are you missing some vodka? Hey, Lithuania, I didn't know you drank…"

Lithuania sighed, looking more tired than ever.

"I must have drunk the vodka and forgotten about it…" he murmured, "Don't worry about it, Latvia. It's fine. I didn't think you would have taken it. I just wanted to make sure."

He smiled, but it was a forced smile, and Latvia knew it.

The Latvian knew then that he would have to be more careful from now on. Lithuania had noticed the missing vodka, and so, he could not steal another bottle. He would have to drink something while he was here, and then go home.

He often spent the night with Lithuania, and he rarely slept much. Estonia had told him to watch for strange behavior when he stayed with the oldest Baltic, and Latvia had to wonder what Estonia was hiding from him. He knew that Lithuania was not all right… But then, what exactly _was_ wrong with the brunet Baltic?

So, that night, as he lay awake in the guest bedroom, Latvia decided that it was time to drink. He would not drink much. Just a little bit, to warm his stomach and erase his depression for an hour or two. That was all he asked for, an hour or two without the worries and demons that plagued him constantly…

He just wanted an hour or two without having to notice the scars on his hands. Just a time where he didn't have to hear Russia or Estonia in his head, threatening to hurt him...

He hated that he was haunted by Estonia, of all people. Estonia was his friend.

And yet it was still horrible, being haunted by that maddened voice, the voice that used to be so calm.

Latvia soon found himself in Lithuania's kitchen, climbing up onto a counter to reach the cupboard where Lithuania kept his alcohol. He selected a bottle-he couldn't be sure in the darkness, but he thought it was vodka.

Latvia sat on the edge of the counter, his short legs dangling over the edge as he twisted the bottle's lid off and took a drink. Yes, it was most definitely vodka. He wondered vaguely why Lithuania kept vodka in his home, and began to ponder whether or not Lithuania might miss Russia. He wanted to deny that thought, but he had stolen a book on the workings of the human mind from Estonia. (He was becoming quite the thief, but he did plan to give Estonia's book back eventually.) In that book, he had discovered the term Stockholm Syndrome, and he had wondered if Lithuania might have it. Of course, the thought should never have crossed the innocent little Latvian's mind… But then again, he was no longer innocent. His innocence had been beaten out of him, crushed out completely during the last brutal beating he had received at the hands of Russia, the one time that he had attempted to play hero.

He took another drink.

A few more moments of thinking, and he took another. He was developing a warm feeling in his stomach now, and this was what he had desired. Just a few more drinks, and he should be able to forget his painful memories for a while.

Then the lights came on, and Latvia was caught sitting on the counter, with the vodka bottle in his hand, staring horrorstricken at Lithuania.

"So it was you," Lithuania said softly, "It makes sense. I always thought that Russia had drunk his own vodka when it went missing, and that he had forgotten it in… Well, a drunken state. But it wasn't him. It was you the whole time, wasn't it, Latvia?"

There was no judgment in his tone, only a quiet resignation.

"You aren't supposed to know," Latvia choked out, "I wasn't going to steal it all this time, I just…"

"You thought you needed it," Lithuania said, his voice quiet and sad, "Oh, _Raivis_ …"

To Latvia's horror, Lithuania pulled out a chair, sat down, and buried his face in his hands, sobbing.

"Don't cry!" Latvia wailed, jumping down from the counter, "I won't do it again, Toris, I promise! Please don't cry!"

"I _told_ Estonia that I failed," Lithuania said, his voice muffled by his hands, "I _told_ him, and he didn't believe me. But, look… I found proof…"

"Toris!" Latvia wailed, seeing Lithuania's shuddering increase, "Toris, it's okay! Please don't cry!"

"Don't cry?" Lithuania echoed, "But I failed. I failed everyone. Estonia was insane, you're drinking alcohol at age fifteen, and I couldn't do anything to stop it…"

"I've been alive for a really long time," Latvia informed him, "I'm not a child."

Lithuania looked up, gazing at him with sad, anguished eyes that were devoid of all the cheerful light Latvia had once expected from him.

"We're all children, Raivis. We're all children, and we were destroyed forever in that mansion."

Suddenly, Latvia had had enough. He threw himself into Lithuania's arms, sobbing and begging him to please, _please_ stop talking like this, to please put the happy, reassuring smile back on his face somehow…

And Lithuania began to cry again, holding him close. The brunet Baltic's sobs hurt Latvia, and he tried to make himself promise that he would never drink again, not until he grew older and was legally allowed to drink.

But he knew he would not keep that promise.

 _"It's like I thought. Toris can't ever know. Not now, not ever again. I'll tell him I'm giving it up, but I'll get the alcohol some other way, some way that he won't find out. I just can't let him know. He… Is it my fault he's so sad? Is it because of me?"_

Much later, Estonia would explain to Latvia that it was neither of their faults that Lithuania was like this. It was the fault of years of torture and abuse, and it was also the fault of a certain girl, who had rejected Lithuania for reasons known only to herself.

For now, Latvia could only hold onto Lithuania as the older boy cried, and he could only hope that it was not he who was responsible for his brother's shattered mental state.

But at that time, he could not shake the feeling that it was in fact he, Latvia, who had broken Lithuania. Although he knew deep inside that it was not true, he could not shake that dreadful feeling.

* * *

 **I did write this rather randomly today, so if I decide it's horrible next week and rewrite it completely , that's why. I'm simply...**

 **Okay, fine, I admit it. I could really use some moral support right now. Or criticism. Or...anything besides feeling sad all the time.**

 **Good God, this is the internet. I need to stop spilling my heart to you people. I also need to stop admitting that I post my fics because knowing that even one person likes it makes me feel like living on...**

 **Depressed Shadow, be quiet and go away...**

 **...**

 **Anyways, depressed Shadow has gone now! Happy Shadow asks that if you like or didn't like this story, please leave a review telling me why! Thanks! :)**

 **Shadow, out!**


	2. Where Demons Hide, Part One

**Partially to make up for me not updating "Written in Blood" last Saturday, but mostly because I'm a strange little person who updates at odd times...**

 **Here is the second chapter of "After Insanity". This is the first chapter in what will probably be a two-shot series, as it's already about twice as long as the first chapter was, and I have much more planned for this little mini-story.**

 **This chapter mainly focuses on Estonia, and I will warn you now, there will be blood. And death. And me losing control of both Estonia and Latvia's actions.**

 **So, with that said... Here is chapter two of "After Insanity".**

* * *

All that this was supposed to be was an innocent visit. Just a calm, friendly evening, talking to each other as friends did. They were friends, after all, and more than that. They were brothers, and it would be fine. Things were always fine in the end, when he was with his little brother.

Except for that one time, when he stabbed his brother. Except for that one time, when he and his brother got drunk and wasted _so much time_. Except for that one time, when he wanted to kill them all, including his little brother, who had saved his life.

Except for right now, when he felt the urge to kill stirring inside of him. And this time, the only target in reach _was_ his little brother, whom he did not want to hurt. Or did he? It was hard to tell, especially with that boy, who could be so sweet, and yet, so infuriating.

"Eddy?"

His little brother's voice, so innocent and sounding slightly scared… Scared for him, or scared _of_ him?

"Latvia."

His own voice was near monotone, which was not a bad thing, but was not good either. He needed his voice to be calm, normal, rational… Sane.

"Are you okay?"

 _"Of course I'm not okay,"_ Estonia thought bitterly, _"If I were okay, I wouldn't be letting you curl up and hug me like that, because that is_ not _how I operate."_

But he _needed_ Latvia, needed the little boy's presence like an alcohol addict needed his liquor.

Speaking of alcohol, he had meant to ask Latvia how he was doing with his addiction, which he had discovered only when the child had broken down in front of him, crying about Lithuania, who had apparently discovered Latvia's 'secret' outlet. Which everyone in their former family, with the exception of Russia, already knew about.

 _"Russia would have killed him if he had known it was Raivis stealing his vodka."_

Not that Russia hadn't killed Latvia anyways. He had, at least once, and probably at other times that had simply gone unnoticed by Estonia.

 _"Perks of being an immortal being. You can die over and over, so many times. You don't escape the cycle until the nation you personify is dissolved."_

"Eddy?" Latvia was once again bothering him, as he had all evening. The tiny boy had come over for… Estonia did not know what. But Latvia was starting to irritate him, and being irritated was _not_ a good thing when one was recovering from a recent episode of outright insanity.

"I am fine," he said quietly, "Stop talking to me."

"Why?" Latvia asked, blinking up at him. The small boy was curled up next to Estonia, his head resting against Estonia's arm. He could not quite sit tall enough to comfortably rest his head on the Estonian's shoulder.

"Because I don't want to talk to you right now," Estonia said.

"But why, Eddy…?" there was an almost whiny tone in Latvia's voice, and it made Estonia feel like slapping the small boy.

 _"No, no, no, do not slap Latvia, send him home before he gets hurt hurt hurt…"_

"Why are you here, Raivis?" Estonia asked, leaning back against the sofa, "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to see you," Latvia said, "I haven't seen you in a really long time…"

"You saw me two weeks ago," Estonia said, "When you came crying to me after Lithuania found out about your little…problem."

"Yeah, but that wasn't a social visit," Latvia said, obviously trying to disguise how much it hurt him to remember that Lithuania now knew about his alcoholism, "And this is!"

"Well, I'm done being social," Estonia muttered, "Go home."

"B-but…" Latvia was sitting up, now, a surprisingly alert expression on his face, "Eddy, I…"

Estonia said nothing, waiting.

"I still need your help," Latvia said softly.

Estonia paused, trying to keep the annoyance and anger he felt from showing on his face.

 _"He can beg for my help, but I can't get any help from him! Never, never, not after last time… I let him help me, let him heal me, and then I stabbed him. And then later… He_ died _trying to get Russia to leave me and Lithuania alone. Can't ask for his help, but of course he gets mine…"_

"And what help do you need, Latvia?" he said coldly.

Latvia stiffened, looking almost frightened.

"What's wrong with you?" he whispered, sounding frightened, "You're acting weird…"

Estonia had suddenly had enough. Enough of this play-acting at polite chatter, enough of Latvia's innocent little voice, enough of Latvia being frightened of him, enough of Latvia himself.

"Raivis, get out!" he growled, glaring at the small boy, who froze, wide-eyed.

"Eddy…" Raivis murmured, "Eddy, that voice… That is _not_ sane Eddy's voice…"

It was, Estonia knew deep inside, most definitely not the voice belonging to 'sane Eddy'. He knew this, but still, the knowledge that even Latvia-Latvia, whom he had tried so hard to protect-knew that he was insane… It was terrible, and it made him ever angrier.

"I said get out!" he snapped, lashing out at Latvia. He had not meant to hit him hard, but he knocked the startled boy from the sofa. Latvia landed on the floor with a startled whimper, blinking up at Estonia.

"Eddy, Eddy, don't hurt me!" Latvia whispered, his gaze frightened, his eyes sad, "Please, it's okay! I'm right here; I'm not Russia or anybody scary! I'm Latvia! It's okay…"

And then Estonia really had had enough. Because it was not okay; it would never be okay again. He had lost his mind, Latvia did not-could not-understand. And if the silly little boy did not understand, then how could he tell Estonia that it would be okay?

"It will never be okay!" he shouted. He was standing now, glaring down at Latvia, who stared up at him with utter terror in his eyes, "You have no idea, do you? Do you, Raivis?!"

He did something he would regret for the rest of his life. He kicked Latvia, who let out a quiet, strangled sob.

"Eddy, no…" the boy whispered, "I don't know how you feel, not really, but…"

"Then don't tell me it will be okay!" Estonia shouted.

Later, he would curse himself for the paranoia that had caused him to hide a gun under the sofa cushions. For he found himself with the gun in hand, rage in his heart, and an urge to kill that sprang from somewhere in his shattered mind, which was now beyond all rationality.

"It. Is. Not. Okay!"

He was shouting, blinded by rage and hatred, not necessarily for Latvia, but for everyone who had allowed him to slip into madness without so much as a word to help him. He knew, somewhere deep inside, that it was not Latvia's fault, but he no longer cared. The memory of Latvia that was foremost in his mind at this moment was that of Latvia running away, leaving him alone voluntarily, instead of being dragged out by Lithuania or Russia or someone else. He remembered that all of this had started because Latvia had said or done something to anger Russia when Lithuania was not there to save him, and so Estonia had been forced to step up and take the fall for Latvia. He remembered that all of this had happened because Latvia could not defend himself.

"You're right," Latvia said breathlessly, wide-eyed and fearful, "I'm sorry, Eddy, I know it's not okay, but… P-please don't shoot me!"

"Please don't shoot you?" Estonia asked, smiling widely, "I thought you wanted to know how I felt, Lati. Well, let me tell you something. The way I feel…starts when someone you love hurts you!"

He pulled the trigger. Latvia screamed, and Estonia laughed.

"Does it hurt yet?" he asked.

Latvia stared up at him, his violet eyes filled with tears and sadness.

"Eddy, Eddy, I'm sorry…" he whispered, sobbing, pressing his hand against the place where Estonia had shot him in the stomach, "I guess… You were mad at me, right? For leaving you… That one time… When you tried to kill yourself or whatever, I heard you… You were screaming at Russia and Toris, and then at me too… 'Are you happy now?' That's what you said, Eddy… You blamed us… I'm not happy. I'm sorry I left you alone to get in trouble with Russia when Toris wasn't there to save us, and…"

"You're just saying that," Estonia said coldly, "Because you don't want me to kill you."

Latvia closed his eyes, raising his curly-haired head higher, toward the ceiling above him.

"You already did, Eddy. You already did. You killed me on the inside, a little bit at a time."

The Latvian boy opened his eyes, staring straight at Estonia.

"Dying on the inside hurts a lot, huh, Estonia? At least you killing me was a little bit quicker and less messy… Than all of us together, killing you."

Estonia had no idea what Latvia was talking about, but it made him angry to see Latvia so calm when he was going to _die_. He was not certain at the time… He was never certain of why it made him so angry. Perhaps he was jealous of Latvia, of the innocence that the small boy possessed and that he, Estonia, could never have again.

Perhaps it was because Latvia could undergo this ordeal without begging for mercy in screaming tones, something that Estonia could never do. He was simply not strong enough mentally to withstand torture as Latvia was doing now.

Perhaps it was a deeper jealousy, seeing how the others went out of their way to shield Latvia, when they no longer shielded him, Estonia, who longed to be shielded from harm.

Or perhaps it was simply because Latvia was not in his position, maddened with rage. Perhaps it was because the small boy did not feel the agony of mind and soul that Estonia did, that he was angry now.

"So now you realize," he said, quietly, "You realize that you killed me?"

Latvia nodded, his face twisted with pain, blood spurting from the wound in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, Eddy."

And not quite knowing why he said it, Estonia replied.

"I'm sorry, too."

Then he laughed, smiled, and pulled the trigger again.

Latvia shrieked in pain, the bullet going into his shoulder this time. Then, he smiled, sad and broken and so very young.

"Eddy… Why can't you aim for the head?"

"Because I don't get a quick death!" Estonia snapped, "I never just get a bullet to the head! Never, Latvia! So if you want to know how it feels, you don't get a bullet to the head either!"

A broken sob escaped from Latvia's lips, and Estonia noticed then that tiny boy's lip was bleeding. Perhaps that was how Latvia kept from crying out-by biting his lip until it bled.

"I'm sorry, Ed," Latvia whispered. He seemed to be trying to stand, pitiful, pained whimpers the only sound he made besides the words that both angered and hurt Estonia.

"I guess I just thought you and Toris were supposed to protect me. I…I was a coward. S-sorry, Eddy… Please don't hate me. I tried to do the same thing, but… G-guess I'm just not strong enough for that…"

He looked up at Estonia, who suddenly realized, with a terrifying jolt, that it was Latvia in front of him, bleeding, probably dying, and it was Latvia who was apologizing, although it was Estonia who had committed a dreadful wrong, and who had shot the small boy.

This was not Russia. This was not the man who had locked him in a mansion and destroyed his mind. This was his little brother, his poor innocent little brother, bleeding on the floor.

"Lati…" Estonia's eyes widened, the gun clattering uselessly onto the floor, "Oh my God…"

He sank to his knees, his heart pounding, wondering what had possessed him only moments before, what horrible demons had caused him to harm his little brother as he had.

"E-Eddy…" Latvia murmured, "It's… I don't mind, really I don't..."

"I'm sorry," Estonia whispered, "I didn't…"

"I know," Latvia said, smiling softly, "I… I'll be okay."

They both knew it was a lie, for Estonia could see a pool of blood forming under Latvia, flowing down from the wounds he had inflicted on the boy, and he knew that the Latvian was going to die.

It was Estonia who was sobbing, then, deep, heartfelt, broken sobs, as he realized that he had, in essence, murdered his brother.

"Estonia… I'm scared."

 _"Well, of course he's scared, he's going to die and it's all your fault… And he called you Estonia. Not Eddy. Estonia. He's gone back to being scared of you, remember how depraved you really are. He…"_

"Don't be scared," Estonia said, "You… You've died before, it's…"

"Like hell," Latvia said, childish and matter-of-fact all at once, "I know. Don't shelter me, just… I just…"

The boy was growing visibly weaker, his head bowed, his breathing ragged. Weakly, Latvia grasped at Estonia's pant leg, murmuring.

"Please, Eddy, I'm scared…"

Back to Eddy. So, did he want something from Estonia? Well, whatever he wanted, he would get it. Not knowing what else to do, Estonia lifted Latvia off the floor, gently and slowly, wrapping his arms around the little boy and pulling him onto his lap.

"T-that's better…" Latvia wheezed, resting his head on Estonia's shoulder. He could put his head there comfortably, now that he was sitting practically on top of Estonia.

"Thank you, Eddy."

It was only a few short moments later that the tiny Latvian became completely still. And then, knowing that Latvia was either unconscious or dead, Estonia lifted his head to the ceiling and let out an anguished wail. He began to cry harder, still holding Latvia's tiny, still bleeding body.

After a while-he did not know how long, perhaps only a few minutes, perhaps many hours-he realized that he could not leave Latvia like this. But he also did not have the courage to slice open the small boy's body and remove the bullets buried deep within him. He simply could not do it. He did not have the strength. So, he reached for the phone and dialed the first number that came to mind.

He did not realize what he was doing until it was too late, until he had already dialed the number of the wrong person, the last person who needed to know that he had gone mad, and murdered Latvia.

"Eduard? It's two a.m.…"

So it _had_ been hours that he had sat there, holding Latvia's corpse.

"Get over here," Estonia choked out, "Please, Toris, please help Raivis."

"Raivis?" Lithuania asked, sounding panicked, "What's wrong with Raivis?!"

"I… He's at my house and I need you to help him," Estonia said, sobbing, "Please, I can't…"

"You hurt him…" Lithuania murmured, and Estonia knew, then, that he must not stay there. He could not face Lithuania, could not watch as the eldest Baltic broke down, as he likely would when he saw what Estonia had done to Latvia.

"Just come and help him," he whispered, and hung up before Lithuania could question him further. It was then that he realized that he did not know where he would go to escape Lithuania's questions, to escape having to see the eldest Baltic break. But he must go, and so, laying Latvia gently on the sofa, Estonia started for the door.

He turned back once, to see Latvia curled up on the sofa, smiling in a sad, almost peaceful way.

"Sleep well, Raivis," he murmured as he slipped out the door into the snow, "I… Forgive me. _Please_."

* * *

 **So, yes. That was a rather...violent...chapter. Next chapter will deal with the rest of this story, parts of which have been hinted at in this chapter. You'll find out where Eddy's headed, you'll (probably) see Lithuania's reaction to finding Latvia dead, and who knows what will happen as I write? I certainly have no idea.**

 **As usual, I have no idea when that update will come, but it will likely be sometime next week. "Written in Blood" will go back to its regular Saturday updates this week, though. That I can promise.**

 **Thank you for all your lovely reviews so far! I really appreciate them. :)**


	3. Where Demons Hide, Part Two

**Oh, look, I finally updated! Amazing... xD I told you all that this thing would have no scheduled updates, right...?**

 **Well, this story has turned into at least a threeshot. I simply couldn't wrap it up in this chapter, so... There will be more sometime. When, I'm not exactly sure, but it will come.**

* * *

The snowstorm had grown worse in the night, and Lithuania had trouble keeping his car on the road. He would have had this trouble, however, even had the weather been clear. His hands would not stop shaking, which made it difficult to grasp the steering wheel. He could not stop himself from thinking about Estonia's late night phone call, the entire reason he was out here at all.

 _"He attacked Latvia, probably. No, I'm certain that is what he did… But how badly did he hurt him? Oh, Eduard, oh Raivis… I wasn't there when you needed me… Again."_

He remembered that he had already failed to protect Latvia once, and had only realized he had failed when he found the child sitting on the kitchen counter while staying over at his house, a bottle of vodka in the little boy's hands. He remembered it vividly, for it had been at that moment that he had realized the sheer extent of his failure to protect the boys. He had not even managed to protect Latvia, the sweet, innocent, blameless child. He had failed in that mission long before he had failed to protect Estonia, for Russia's vodka had gone missing many, many times, and the Baltics had all been blamed in turn, with the exception of the childishly innocent Latvia, when in reality it had always been Latvia who was the culprit.

There was a terrible ache in Lithuania's chest as he thought of this, as he realized the sheer weight of the things his brothers had endured, when it ought to have been he and he alone who had to bear such a burden.

Lithuania saw Estonia's house ahead of him, and, frustrated with his inability to keep his car headed in a straight line, he pulled over on the side of the near-deserted road, parking his car, and then running toward the house, slipping and falling into the deep snow. He struggled blindly on, seeing a light shining in one of the windows, his only guide in the darkness of the stormy night.

When he finally reached the house, Lithuania did not even pause to knock. There was no time for it. Latvia had been hurt when Estonia had first called him, hours ago, and who knew what might have happened to the small boy since then? It was more than likely that Estonia had hurt Latvia even more in the time it had taken for Lithuania to get to them…

Throwing open the door, the Lithuanian was confronted by a nearly deserted room. At first, all seemed peaceful, including the small boy curled up on the sofa.

Then, his eyes fell on the abandoned gun and the bloodstains on the carpet, and he knew that Estonia had shot and probably killed Latvia.

He had known already that he would find Latvia injured, but he had not expected anything like this. Beaten, perhaps… But never shot, and never by Estonia.

"W-who gave him a gun?" Lithuania murmured, staring blankly at the scene before him.

He realized with a jolt that Estonia was not there, and, frantically, he called out the boy's name. Receiving no answer, he shouted louder, his voice betraying his panic at finding Estonia absent.

"Eduard! Eduard, where are you? C-come out… I won't hurt you…"

And he realized, as the silence persisted, that Estonia had run away, had left him with tiny, broken, _murdered_ Latvia. Estonia had killed Latvia… And then he had left him, running away into the snow, Lithuania knew not where.

It was all too much, then, for as Lithuania stood alone, staring at the tiny, unmoving Latvian, he realized fully that he had truly failed. He had not only failed to save Latvia from being hurt… He had also not managed to save the child from death itself. And he had not been able to save Estonia from the inner demons which the boy had not yet possessed, the demons that inevitably came from murdering one's own brother.

Once, in Russia's mansion, Lithuania had had no choice but to kill someone he loved dearly-Estonia himself. And although he had known, even then, that he had to do it, to protect everyone from Estonia's rage, the memory still haunted him.

He could still remember, vividly, the stricken look on Estonia's face just before he fell dead to the floor. What he had done to Estonia was not one of the principal causes of what he had now become, but remembering it, he sometimes burst into tears, holding a knife in his shaking, scarred hand, remembering that he had once killed his brother with a knife very much like the one he used to hurt _himself_ , now.

And if this memory haunted him so much, although he knew it had been to protect the rest of his family, how much more would the realization that he had murdered his brother hurt Estonia, who had killed for no purpose?

Lithuania did not realize that he had begun to cry until he felt the telltale wetness on his cheeks, and it was then that he finally moved, stumbling over to where Latvia lay. There was a small smile on the child's face, and Lithuania had to wonder how it was that Latvia could look so innocent, so peaceful, even in death.

It was the look of tranquility and innocence that hurt Lithuania most, because the murder of an innocent child was somehow so much worse than the death of someone like Russia, or even Estonia. For even Estonia had done things that any human would term terrible acts, perhaps deeds worthy of the death penalty. No human should ever grasp the insanity and pain that plagued nations in their immortal lives, and Lithuania hoped that no human ever would.

Carefully, the brunet Baltic laid Latvia flat on the sofa, attempting to discover the source of the blood staining the tiny boy's clothes. He found that Latvia had been shot, not once, but twice, and seeing the sheer amount blood on the small boy's body and clothes, he began to sob aloud, unable to reconcile Latvia's peaceful face with the wounds in his body. There was simply no way that such a child ought to look so peaceful when he had obviously died in agony. But the emotion was unmistakably a peaceful one, and Lithuania realized that Latvia had become something that he had hoped the boy would never be.

Latvia, despite the expression of innocence on his face, had lost all the childish, sweet innocence that Lithuania had tried so hard to make sure that the Latvian boy would never lose. Latvia had become, through some cruel twist of fate, an adult.

Lithuania fell to his knees, whimpering in pain as his scarred, already throbbing wrists rubbed against the carpet.

"I'm sorry…" he sobbed, no longer attempting to stop himself from crying. Estonia was missing, Latvia was dead, and it was all because he had not protected them. All of this stemmed from the simple fact that he had failed to protect them once, and after that, he had failed to protect them again and again as they strove to take matters into their own hands. He had not protected them, and they had then tried to protect him. And so, by not saving them once, he had opened their eyes to his pain, and opened the door to their further suffering.

And he realized suddenly that Latvia's innocence had been shattered long before Estonia had lost his mind. For if the frequent disappearance of Russia's vodka stash was any indication, Latvia had been using alcohol as an outlet for most of their confinement in the Russian's mansion. Lithuania could not blame the boy… But it was this realization that provided further proof of his failure.

Lithuania felt the urge to scream, to curse whatever deity had condemned mere children to such a cruel fate. He wished, at that moment, to show weakness and to cry uncontrollably, to scream, to beg for things to go back to the way they were before, when he still had a chance to protect Estonia and Latvia.

The knife was in his hand almost before he knew what he was doing. No, he still did not realize what he was doing, even as, trembling, he slashed the knife across his already scarred arm. The cut was deeper than he meant it to be, but that meant it hurt more.

And if it hurt, if he was being hurt, then it was all right to cry. He did not have to feel bad about showing weakness if someone was hurting him. Even if the someone hurting him was himself, it was all right. He was allowed to cry, to scream, to beg, to curse the world. And this was the only time that he could show such a display of weakness without hating himself. Yes, in order to cry without self-hatred, he must be in physical pain.

Looking down, seeing the blood run red from his arm, Lithuania did not hate himself for his tears. He only hated himself for not saving Latvia and Estonia, who had been destroyed forever because he had not been there when they needed him.

Lithuania screamed.

* * *

It was five a.m., Ukraine thought, although it might have been a bit later. She had just stumbled out of bed, a nightmare having prompted her to leave her dark bedroom and find something to eat. Food… Yes, that would distract her. She did not use food as a distraction often, but at times like these, she could rationalize eating a little bit of something to calm herself down.

She was trembling as she walked down the dark hallway, half expecting some sort of monster to leap out at her. She was clutching at her arm, convinced that she was not bleeding, but still feeling frightened and unable to stop herself from shaking.

"It was just a dream," she murmured, turning on the kitchen light, "You dreamed, silly. Stop crying. No one is here to hurt you."

She glanced down, though, pulling back her sleeve and examining her arm, just to be certain that she was not bleeding. All that she saw was a long scar, tracing the length of her arm.

"Just a dream!" she announced, with false cheerfulness, "All is well!"

She busied herself in rummaging through the cupboards, looking for something calming to eat. There was not much there, so she finally settled for making tea. Tea would suffice, as long as it was that calming kind, the kind that put you to sleep if you drank it just before bedtime.

She had just put the kettle on when she heard a knock at the door. Ukraine stiffened, once again instinctively clutching at her arm. Really, she should not be so protective of that arm. She should not attempt to shield that arm in particular from any kind of danger. But when one's brother hurt you, cut your arm open and left you to stumble back to your room alone, leaving a trail of blood behind you… Was there not a reason to want to keep the same thing from happening again?

"W-who's there?" she called, her voice trembling.

 _"Russia?! What do I do if it's Russia? Should I run away? Should I have asked who was there at all? Oh, I should have just pretended to be asleep…"_

"It's me," said the quiet, yet somehow unmistakable voice of Estonia, "Katya, can I come in? Please?"

Ukraine nearly began to cry, so relieved was she to find that the person at her door was someone other than Russia.

However, now that she thought of it, Estonia might not be the best person to invite into one's house in the middle of the night, either…

Cautiously, Ukraine opened the door, ready to slam it shut again if she had to. As she had thought, Estonia was standing outside. From the condition of his clothes, and the fact that his face was nearly blue with cold, Ukraine could see that he had most definitely not driven or flown to her house, and that set her on edge. Few nations would walk from their own home to the home of another nation unless they were not in their right mind, or necessity demanded it. Knowing Estonia, it was more than likely that the former option was in play at the moment.

"Hello, Eduard," she said cautiously, not certain what to make of the situation.

"Hello," Estonia whispered, and it was then that Ukraine noticed the blood staining his shirt.

"You're bleeding!" she squeaked, "Eduard, why didn't you tell me you were hurt? Come inside right now!"

She grabbed his hand, pulling him through the door and into her house, despite his stammering protests.

"Katya, I don't think…"

"I don't care what you think," Ukraine said, keeping her tone businesslike, "You sit down and tell me what's happened to you!"

"Let go of me, Ukraine!" Estonia snapped, and she pulled away, suddenly frightened of him. She was afraid of the anger in his voice, afraid that he might snap and hurt her.

"I'm not hurt," Estonia said quietly, and Ukraine saw that there were tears in his eyes, "This isn't my blood."

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"It's Latvia's."

Ukraine screamed, and instantly hated herself for it as Estonia began to cry like the child he was. The boy's broken sobs echoed through the quiet house, his cries shattering the stillness of the night.

"I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to! I thought he was Russia! Please don't hate me!"

Estonia was hysterical, screaming and sobbing, and Ukraine could only stare at him in shock.

"You… You hurt Latvia?" she murmured, and suddenly, Estonia was staring at her, his eyes narrowed, his expression pained, and his agony evident in his eyes.

"No, Katya," he said, "I didn't just hurt Latvia. I killed him."

Ukraine still stared at him, not quite comprehending. Surely Estonia was joking? He had to be-there was no way he would have willingly harmed Latvia… Was there?

"No," she said, "No you didn't, you silly boy. You're imagining things."

"K-Katya…" Estonia sobbed, "At least believe me… Hate me if you want, but please just believe me…"

There was no mistaking the tremor in his voice, the sadness, the hurt. He had murdered Latvia. There was no question about it.

"Oh, Eduard…" Ukraine murmured. Somehow, she believed that Estonia was not dangerous to her now. She heard his sobs, saw the tears in his eyes, and, despite the blood staining his clothes, she believed that he would not harm her. He was simply too sad and too broken to be of any danger to her.

"It will be all right," she said, taking a step toward him. She cautiously extended her hand, as if he were a hurt and frightened animal, and she were reaching out to stroke his fur. He seemed almost like a frightened animal, now, and she wanted to comfort him.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt Latvia…" she murmured, "It's all right."

Estonia backed away from her, his gaze frightened.

"Don't!" he whispered, his eyes wide, "Don't come near me! I'll hurt you too, Katya!"

Ukraine hesitated for a moment, but she really did not need to think at all about what she was going to do.

"No, you won't," she said, "You're a good, sweet boy, Eduard. It will be all right."

"L-leave me alone!" Estonia cried, "Please! I shouldn't have come here, b-but… I…"

"Ssh…" Ukraine murmured, reaching for his hand, "It's all right. You can talk to me. You're safe. Ssh… It's okay."

* * *

Estonia tried to pull away, but he had quite literally backed himself into a corner. He could flee no further, and Ukraine was still coming closer, her hand extended as if to grasp his. For a moment, Estonia felt anger rushing back into his half-frozen body. How dare she keep coming closer after he had told her to leave him be? It was just like Latvia…

And he must not do to Ukraine what he had done to Latvia. So he had no choice but to stand still, bowing his head, waiting for the inevitable, gentle touch.

It was not on his hand, but on his head, that Ukraine's hand landed. Estonia felt her begin to stroke his hair, and, suddenly, he felt the pain welling up inside him, melting away the walls he had built to keep his emotions in check. It was a different type of feeling from the overwhelming rage. The sheer weight of what he had done came crashing down on him, and as he remembered tiny, innocent Latvia, dead because of him, Estonia could no longer keep himself from crying.

He began to sob quietly, his head still bowed, and Ukraine continued to stroke his hair. After a few moments, when his sobbing continued, he felt the pressure of her hand disappear, and he stiffened slightly, afraid that she had left him. But then, he felt her arms around him, felt her pulling him closer, and knew that he was safe.

But as he realized that he was safe, he also knew that Latvia was not safe. Latvia had never been safe; not with Estonia, and certainly not with Russia. Latvia, Estonia knew from experience, was at this moment dying a thousand deaths, the deaths of his citizens, even as he lay in a dead state. For that was what death was to a nation-a comatose state in which you relived the deaths of your past citizens. It was, Estonia knew, utter agony.

Perhaps by now Lithuania had found Latvia, and Estonia could not begin to imagine what might happen once Lithuania realized that he, Estonia, had murdered their brother. All that he could think of was the bandages around his older brother's wrists, and, horrified, he realized that upon finding Latvia's body, Lithuania might well choose to end himself as well. And the thought of Lithuania doing such a thing was simply too terrible, as was the thought that he, Estonia, might return to his own home only to find both his brothers there, dead and bleeding.

Estonia began to sob harder, feeling Ukraine's comforting embrace tighten. He was taller than her, but, despite this, he leaned against her, burying his face in her hair. He could not identify the scent of her hair, but it smelled nice, not unpleasant, and, like the rest of her, it had a comforting feeling about it.

"You're safe, Eduard…" Ukraine murmured, "No one is going to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

He did know it, deep inside, but he was still haunted by the lies he had been told, and by one lie in particular.

 _"When you leave-and you all will leave me someday, because everyone leaves me-they won't want you with them. Lithuania always goes out of his way for Latvia, so maybe he will take him along wherever he goes. But you? You are just the third wheel, useless Estonia. Smart, but not so very useful to them in the long run. They will leave you behind."_

It was not the truth. Estonia knew that, now. But he could not forget those words, for they had been forever engrained in his memory. Those words, and Latvia's actions later on the night when Russia had told him that his family did not care about him, had been the greatest cause of his insanity.

"He told me that Latvia and Lithuania would leave, and not take me with them," he whispered. It was the first time that he had said this so plainly while in a rational frame of mind, the first time he had tried to come to terms with the terrible things Russia had said and done to him.

"But you know they wouldn't do that…" Ukraine murmured, "They love you, Estonia. They always have. They always will. Lithuania risked everything for…"

"Please don't," Estonia whimpered, "Don't talk about him. You don't understand!"

"What don't I understand?" Ukraine asked, but Estonia could not bear to reply. What he had done to Lithuania by involving him now… It was simply too terrible to think about.

He straightened suddenly, but did not fully pull away from her embrace. Instead, he grasped her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes, wondering if she could see his agony as he could see her fear and pain.

"I called him, Katya," he whispered, "I called him to help. Because I murdered my little brother. Because… Toris was… He was supposed to…"

"Eduard," Ukraine whispered, "You're hurting me."

He was gripping her shoulders too hard; there was blood seeping through her thin nightshirt. And he pulled away, remembering a similar moment in time, a moment when he had also drawn blood while gripping her shoulders, trying to make her understand what he felt.

At that time, he had felt betrayed by her. Now he felt betrayed only by himself. For Ukraine was not to blame for what had happened to him. There was no one to blame but Russia, and himself. For Russia had first spoken the terrible words, the words that had confirmed Estonia's deepest fear… But it was Estonia himself who had allowed that fear to break his mind.

"I'm sorry…" he murmured, releasing Ukraine, and turning his face away, "You shouldn't come near me, Katya. I'm not the kind of person you want to be near. I… I'm a murderer…"

"You are a good person, Eduard," Ukraine said, "Do you…? Do you remember what Belarus and Latvia told you, on that last day? The day before we left Russia? Do you remember what they said?"

He did remember. He remembered that he had fallen into the grip of insanity again, for they had failed in their mission. Their one task had been to rescue Lithuania from Russia, and not only had they failed in that, they had not only come away empty-handed, but had left Ukraine behind to face Russia alone.

And so he had stood alone, laughing and crying, and Latvia had come to him, begging him to stop. Latvia had told him then that he was wanted, needed, loved. And somehow, Estonia could not quite believe it. He could not believe that he was needed, for he could not save any of the people he loved, the people he had tried so hard to save. Lithuania, he had left alone to be destroyed at Russia's hand. Ukraine, he had abandoned out of fear. Latvia, he had not saved, despite his efforts, and this he had seen clearly even before they left Russia's mansion.

He had not even saved himself. He had allowed himself to be tortured, had allowed his mind to be broken. He was not the same child who had entered Russia's mansion. He was no longer Eduard von Bock, a child kidnapped from his home. No, now he was Eduard von Bock, madman.

This he knew clearly. He had almost accepted the fact that he would never escape his insanity. But he also knew that as long as he remained partially in the grip of insanity, his friends would never be safe from him. And he would never feel safe again.

If he retained any of his insanity, then he would never heal. And thus, he would have been destroyed in the act of trying to save the people he loved. And it was for nothing, for in the end, he had not even saved himself.

And still Belarus's voice sounded in his head, and he remembered what she had said to him on that day in Russia's mansion.

 _"Heroes seldom_ do _save themselves."_

* * *

 **So, there's a chapter. I have not the slightest idea when the next one will be written, but it should be soon.**

 **Reviews are always appreciated, and they make Shadow very happy. :) Yes, even if you're living in 2025 or something. If you're in 2025, how's the future? I suppose I'll still be around somewhere, so I'll find out in ten years... xD**


	4. Where Demons Hide, Part Three

**I finally got this thing done! Well, guys, this chapter concludes the 'Where Demons Hide' segment of this fic, but there will definitely be some more oneshots to come, and I'm planning a couple that will have Russia and Belarus in them, too, as they've been rather noticeably absent from this fic so far.**

 **I've got some things to say at the end, but, for now, enjoy this chapter! :)**

* * *

Estonia did not know how it happened, but he did know that, at some point, Ukraine managed to coax him to a chair. He was sitting at the table, a blanket round his shoulders, watching as she bustled around the kitchen. What exactly she was doing, he did not know, but watching her was a convenient distraction, and so, he continued to sit in silence, not questioning her movements.

He did not feel any malevolence toward her, but he did feel a deep and terrible fear that he would hurt her. He should not be here, not so close to her, but he could not help but want comfort, and Ukraine was a comforting presence, the comforting presence that Lithuania could no longer be, and would never be again.

And thinking of that, Estonia remembered that he had involved the poor, broken Lithuanian in this, that his older brother had probably reached his house by now, only to find him gone, only to see Latvia dead on the sofa. And Lithuania would know that he, Estonia, had murdered their innocent little brother, and had then fled like the criminal he was.

Some sound must have escaped him, his mental agony must have been made evident, for, suddenly, Ukraine was pushing a chair over to him, sitting down next to him. She grasped his hands, and he tried not to look at her, knowing that she would be in tears.

"Eduard…"

He made the mistake of looking into her eyes, just for an instant, and he saw a terrible depth of sadness in her tears.

"You're hurting too," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."

"N-no, it's all right," Ukraine said, but her voice was trembling, and they both knew that it was not all right. "I don't mind, Eduard…"

"Well, I mind," he said. "I mind having you care for me, Katya. I don't need you to. I… I c-can…"

"No, you can't," she whispered, squeezing his hands gently. "If you could take care of yourself, Eduard, you wouldn't be here… Would you?"

"I was going to go to Finland," Estonia said desperately. He almost wished he had gone to Finland, because if he were there, he would not be watching Ukraine cry. But he would have quite likely been watching Finland cry if he had gone to him, and he could not involve the Finnish man. No one else needed to be involved in his madness, in this living hell into which he had dragged both himself and many of the people he loved.

"I was going to go to him," he repeated. "But I realized… He wouldn't understand, would he, Katya?"

Ukraine paused, seemingly unwilling to reply. But he saw the answer in her eyes.

"He would be frightened of me," Estonia whispered. "H-he would hate me…"

"No! No, he wouldn't!" Ukraine cried. She was still holding his hands, but she let go of the left one now, reaching up to stroke his hair.

"Eduard, I promise, Finland loves you. You're his friend."

 _"Yes, I am his friend. That is all I will ever be to him. A friend. Probably not even his best friend… I wonder, if someone asked, would he say that Sweden is his best friend? He certainly wouldn't say me, so he would probably say Sweden. I… I am so goddamn jealous of that man... He has Tino forever, if he wants him… I don't have anyone who will stay forever…"_

"He would be completely appalled if he knew," Estonia said, glaring into Ukraine's eyes. "You… You're appalled with me too, aren't you, Katya?"

"No, Eduard," she said, her voice soft, quiet, soothing. "I'm just sad for you."

"Don't be!"

His voice had risen, and even he knew it. He could hear the desperation and anguish in his own voice, and he knew that Ukraine must have heard it too. She flinched, tensing, and, for a moment, he thought that she was going to run away from him. Then, she looked up at him again, and there was such terrible sadness in her eyes, a sadness that, he knew, could not possibly be completely directed at him. She should not care that much. No one should care that much, not for him, the useless, selfish madman. They had no reason to care that much. And he did not want them to.

"Don't feel bad for me," he repeated. "You don't need to be. I don't need your pity. I'm… I'm going to be o-okay…"

His voice broke, and he trailed off, trying not to cry.

 _"It will never be okay again. I told Latvia that, and I meant it. I… Will never be okay again."_

"Oh, Eduard…" Ukraine murmured, tears in her eyes and a distraught agony in her voice. "You don't have to try to be so strong, you know. No one is that strong…"

"Toris was!" Estonia shrieked, leaping to his feet, and this time, Ukraine really did run from him, bolting from her chair to cower on the other side of the room.

"T-Toris was that strong…" Estonia sobbed, staring at Ukraine, and realizing, deep inside, that she would never again fully trust him, that no one would ever fully trust him again. But that realization was driven away by the agony of the knowledge that he and his older brother were both broken, that neither of them had been able to save the other, or even little Latvia.

"He was so s-strong… And then… I-it's all my fault… I should have saved him… C-could have… Maybe if I wasn't a coward, we could have g-gotten to him before Russia drove him this far… I c-could…"

He stared desperately at Ukraine, but he was not seeing her there at all. He saw his older brother, Lithuania, comforting him, taking care of him, loving him… Lithuania would not be able to do that for him again. The older boy was so broken, broken almost beyond recognition, and all Estonia knew was that he had failed to save both Lithuania and himself.

He remembered Lithuania's bravery and desperation… How unbreakable his brother had seemed, at the beginning, trying so hard to save them all, willing to sacrifice himself, and always smiling brightly despite the pain.

And he also remembered, agonizingly, the way Lithuania had burst into tears when Estonia had told him that they were leaving Russia. He remembered that Lithuania had seemed convinced that it was all a cruel joke. And he had realized then that Lithuania had given up on living. For they had always dreamed of their freedom, and then, when they had it again, Lithuania had given up all hope, having been twisted into the broken, tormented person that was a mere shell of the kind older brother Estonia could now only vaguely remember.

"He was so strong…" he repeated, numbly, and suddenly, the tears began to fall. He barely even thought of himself at that moment, for the only thing he could think was that he had involved Lithuania in a new cycle of agony, another cycle started by a madman.

Except, this time, the madman who had started the cycle was him. He, Estonia, had dragged his older brother back into the hell they had only just barely begun to recover from living in. He had done this by murdering Latvia.

"It's my fault."

He knew this to be true, for Lithuania would not have been driven this far had he, Estonia, not started all this. Lithuania's shattered mind and broken body were, as far as Estonia was concerned, something that he was heavily to blame for. He had forced his brother into the brunet Baltic's worst nightmare. He had made it so that Lithuania failed to protect the family he held so dear. He had unwittingly forced his brother to watch him and Latvia and everyone else fall apart. And that was Lithuania's worst nightmare, the thing that had driven him to this despair.

"Katya, go to Toris," he said, and his voice sounded like that of a child.

"Toris?" Ukraine echoed, sounding puzzled. "What's wrong with Toris, Eduard?"

"I told you, I called him," Estonia whispered, his voice still childish and frightened, "I called him; he's probably at my house… H-he won't be able to…"

Understanding dawned in Ukraine's eyes, and she nodded.

"Yes, Eduard, we'll go to Toris," she agreed, her voice soft and soothing, "Come on. The storm's blowing over a bit-we should be able to get there without too much trouble."

"I… I'm not going," Estonia choked out. "I can't."

Ukraine paused, staring at him in a questioning manner, and Estonia said nothing, waiting.

 _"I can't face him. He'll… I murdered Latvia. I did to Latvia the same things that Russia did to Lithuania… I can't possibly face him…"_

"He will not blame you, Eduard," Ukraine said, and although her voice was quiet, it was louder than before, and Estonia realized that she had come back to him, was once again standing in front of him.

"He should," Estonia murmured, turning his face away from Ukraine. "He should hate me for what I've done. I… Ukraine, I murdered Latvia! I… He was screaming and begging me to stop, and I laughed… B-because I wanted him to die… I wanted him to see how I feel… I murdered my little brother… I d-don't deserve to live, so h-how can I face Toris now?"

"Because Lithuania will never blame you," Ukraine murmured. Estonia felt her stroking his hair again, and he wanted to pull away, but could not. He longed for her embrace, for the comfort she provided. He wished, in that moment, that Ukraine would stay with him forever, would love him and take care of him until the end of the world…

He had wished that Finland would do the same, once. And he knew, because he had experienced it with Finland, that no one would want to stay with him forever, even if nations could do such a thing. They would always choose someone else over him…

And they had every right to.

"But I blame _myself_ ," he choked out. "I… I can't be Lithuania, Katya. I tried, b-but I can't…"

"You don't have to be," Ukraine said. "No one expects you to be like him, Eduard. You are your own person. You don't have to be like him."

"But I want to be, and I _can't_ …"

It was not just Lithuania's bravery he wanted, but the wonderful, sunshiny kindness that was Lithuania's very essence. He wanted to have that quality that made everyone-even the psychopaths of the world-love Lithuania.

He longed to be wanted like that. But he also knew, deep inside, that Lithuania's bravery and beautiful, wonderful kindness were the very things that had, in the end, led to his brother's destruction. But still he wanted to be treasured as Lithuania seemed to be. In a way, Estonia wanted to be the one told by a madman that he could never leave that insane person's side, because that would mean that someone _wanted_ him.

"You don't have to be him to be wonderful," Ukraine said. "You are wonderful enough already, Eduard."

She smiled up at him, and he found himself thinking bitter, saddened thoughts.

 _"If this was a novel, then she would kiss me now. But she will never kiss me. She does not think of me that way. And neither did Finland. No one ever will."_

She had said it herself, not long after the Soviet Union had broken up. She had come to him, to check on him, and during that visit, she had confirmed something that he had already suspected. She did not love him as anything more than a friend, or, perhaps, a child.

He did not want to be a child to her. He wanted to be more than even a friend. But the things he wanted most, Estonia knew, he could never have. Happiness had been denied to him. He had longed for freedom, but had achieved that freedom only to find that he could not escape the demons in his mind.

And he had longed for someone who would stay with him forever, would love him forever. But he could never have that. For Finland, first, and then, Ukraine, had said that they did not love him in that way. So he could never have that love which he desired. He would be, it seemed, alone forever, despite the friends he had. He knew they loved him, in the way that friends loved each other, but they could not be with him all the time, and not forever. And that was what he longed for. He longed for someone who would never leave him.

"Eduard? Are you…are you all right?"

He looked down at Ukraine, who was staring up at him with concern in her eyes. The concern of a friend, only, and not of someone who would stay forever.

And he was not all right. How could he be? He was broken, his mind was broken, and he would soon be all alone in a house that echoed of murder and blood. For the first time, Estonia felt overwhelming pity for Russia, left alone in his bloodstained mansion. After what he had done to Latvia in his home, he would never be able to escape the memory.

He nodded, though, and he saw the sadness in Ukraine's eyes spill over in the form of tears. She knew he was lying.

"Then, Eduard…" Ukraine murmured, stepping back and holding out her hand, "Will you let me take you home?"

He hesitated, picturing again how horrified and disappointed Lithuania would be. But he knew he would have to go home eventually, that he could not stay here with Ukraine. Ukraine would not be there for him forever. And so he should not allow himself to even think of it, as he surely would if he stayed here any longer.

Estonia took a deep breath, and reached for Ukraine's hand.

* * *

Lithuania lay alone, half-conscious, thinking foggily that Estonia was going to have to re-carpet his living room. Not only was Latvia's blood on the floor, but Lithuania's own as well. The brunet Baltic was curled up on the far end of the sofa from Latvia. Every so often, he would glance at the small boy, to see if he might be waking up yet. So far, there was no movement from Latvia, but at least the child's wounds had been bandaged. He would recover from the physical pain, but perhaps not from the psychological torture that must have been inflicted on him. Lithuania could only imagine how frightening it must be to be shot by one's own brother.

"Oh, Raivis…" Lithuania murmured faintly, watching the small boy as he lay alone, not breathing. "I'm so sorry."

He was exhausted. After he had cut his arm the first time, he had sobbed for a while, screaming and pleading with some higher being to please end the suffering that had been inflicted upon them.

And when he had stopped pleading with the deity that likely did not exist at all, he had gone to bandage his wrist. He could not die now… Not before he had tended to Latvia.

And so, he had bandaged his own wounds, and then, he had bandaged Latvia's. Now, he sat with the dead boy on the sofa, waiting. Waiting for what, he did not know. Death, he thought, although he knew that if he died now, Latvia would wake and find him lying still and cold, and he did not want the child to see him that way. Despite knowing that Latvia was no longer an innocent child, Lithuania still held onto the hope of protecting his youngest brother.

His gaze shifted to his own wrist. He had removed the bandage after he had finished tending to Latvia, and it was then that he had truly gone to work. He still held the knife in his hand, and tears ran down his face while crimson blood ran down his arm.

He had traced blood red spirals on his arm, looping, tangling threads of blood, and he sobbed quietly as he prepared to drive the knife into his arm again. It hurt, but he needed that hurt, and it was as much a punishment as it was a necessity. He needed that pain in order to show his pain, but he also needed to punish himself for failing to protect his little brothers, for allowing them to hurt each other irreparably.

He plunged the knife into his arm, deeper than he had meant to, and he cried out in agony and despair, wishing more than anything that he could reverse time, that he could save his brothers and, somehow, fully give up himself. He wished that he could turn the clock back, only to sacrifice himself for his brothers, to preserve their innocence.

"I want to go back!" he screamed, utter hopelessness overtaking him. "Please, let me go back! I want to save them… Just… Let me save them…"

There was no one to answer his cries. He was alone, and he did not want to be alone. He longed for the presence of someone, anyone, and so, he dropped the knife on the already bloodstained sofa, and reached out for Latvia. He picked the boy up, not even noticing that the boy's clothes were being stained by his blood, and not the child's own. He pulled Latvia over to him, cradling the child's head in his bleeding arms.

"I'm sorry, Raivis," he murmured. "I… I didn't try hard enough."

He bent his head, sobbing, his tears falling on Latvia's pale, still face. His entire body shook with sobs, and Lithuania cried as he had seldom cried before, the full extent of his pain manifest in his agonized wails.

Then, unexpectedly, there were footsteps at the door, and Lithuania had no time to conceal his bleeding wrists before Estonia and Ukraine were there, and Ukraine was at his side. Ukraine saw everything in an instant, and she bent to take Latvia from him. He held tighter to the boy, not wanting to let go, but then Estonia was there, and Lithuania's grip on Latvia loosened just enough that Ukraine managed to pry the child from his grasp.

"N-no!" Lithuania whimpered. "I want him to s-stay with me…"

"I'll stay with you," Estonia said quietly. "I'll stay with you, Toris. K-Katya's going to fix Raivis up and get all the blood off him…"

Estonia was crying, Lithuania realized, and he reached out feebly, trying to comfort the boy, only to see Estonia's eyes widen in shock.

"Toris… Y-your arms…"

He looked down, down at the blood staining his arms almost up to the elbow, and sighed quietly.

"It's fine, Eduard," he murmured. "I… I _must_ be about to pass out by now…"

"No, Toris, no…" Estonia whispered, tears still running down his cheeks. "Please don't talk like that! P-please…"

"But I want to go to sleep," he said, his words sounding weak and feeble even to him. "And… I don't want to wake up again, Eduard…"

"You sound like a child," Estonia said, staring at him. "And… T-Toris… How…? Why…? Damn you, why do you care so much?!"

Lithuania flinched, Estonia's raised voice startling him. He saw the look in Estonia's eyes change to sadness and despair, and he knew that Estonia, too, blamed himself for what had happened to them all.

"You shouldn't… You don't have to protect everyone," Estonia told him. "That's not your job."

"Y-yes, it is."

Estonia did not understand. It was his job, it had to be. It was the only thing he could do…

"It has to be my job," he said. "I don't feel so useless, when…"

"You are not useless!" Estonia's voice was broken by sobs, but there was some sort of clear resolve in his eyes, a resolve that Lithuania did not quite understand.

"You are not useless," Estonia repeated, more quietly. "You… P-people love you, Toris… And you n-never hurt them… Not like me… Why can't you see how much everyone loves you? You're worth so much more than I'll ever be… Oh, _Toris_ …"

Estonia seemed to collapse, falling to his knees, and Lithuania could not reach the boy to comfort him. He tried, but his hands were trembling and weak, and he could not seem to move them correctly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm not… I'm not as wonderful as you think I am... I'm… I'm so tired… E-Eduard… I…"

He felt so lightheaded, so tired and weak, and his eyes began to close. So quietly that, perhaps, even Estonia did not hear him, he whispered one last sentence.

"I'm not the hero you think I am. I failed you. I'm sorry."

* * *

Estonia felt Lithuania lose consciousness, and he looked up at the older boy, to see with a touch of relief that his brother was still breathing, although his breaths were light.

"You'll always be a hero to me…" he murmured, sobbing. "You never hurt anyone, Toris, never. How can you possibly torment yourself like this when you have never done anything wrong? How?!"

"Eduard?"

Ukraine's voice. Estonia turned to her, his eyes still full of tears, a tremor still in his voice.

"H-he passed out. He's still breathing, but…"

"I'll take care of him," Ukraine promised, but Estonia saw uncertainty in her eyes, and he knew then that not even Ukraine knew how to fix Lithuania. There had been irreparable damage done, not only to Estonia's mind, but also to Lithuania's, and Estonia felt a cold, chilling dread as he considered that thought, the thought that his brave, kind older brother would be this broken forever.

"You should go to Latvia," Ukraine continued. "He's started breathing again. He'll wake up soon, so…"

"He'll be afraid of me," Estonia whispered. "He will hate me, Katya. He… I can't…"

"He is just like Lithuania," Ukraine said, reaching down and cupping Estonia's chin in her hand. "He is not capable of hate. Not toward you, at least. He will know that you did not mean it… He probably already knows. He knows you love him, Eduard."

"If they are both incapable of hate," Estonia said sadly, "Then they truly have no reason to call me brother. They are far too good to be my family."

"They call you their brother because that is what you are," Ukraine said. "Eduard, whether you like it or not, they are your family."

 _"And you will never be,"_ Estonia added silently. _"You will not love me and stay with me forever, Katya. It is not possible for me to have that, not from you or Tino or anyone else."_

But she was right, he knew. Lithuania and Latvia were family. And even if his family hated him, he would stay with them. He would try to protect them. At the beginning of his insanity, he had made that promise to them, silent and unseen. And he still wanted to keep that promise, for it was an important one. He loved his brothers, and he would protect them if he could. And so he must go and face Latvia, whom he had murdered.

"I will go," he said, standing up. He paused for a moment, looking Ukraine in the eyes, and remembering bitterly that she could never be his. Then, he glanced at Lithuania, who was so still and pale, and felt an agonizing worry well up deep inside him at the sight of his unconscious brother.

"Don't let him die," he whispered, and turned away before Ukraine could reply. Lithuania must not be allowed to suffer the pain of death again. He had suffered that punishment far too many times already.

Ukraine had taken Latvia to Estonia's bedroom, and that was where he went, now. He paused before he opened the door, preparing himself for the inevitable fear that he would see exhibited by the little brother whom he loved more than anything in the world. And then he turned the handle.

Latvia lay alone on the bed, but from his position, curled up tightly into a ball, Estonia knew that Latvia had woken from his deathly sleep. As he watched, the tiny boy's eyes flickered open.

For a moment, the two boys watched each other silently. Then, uncertainly, Latvia spoke.

"H-hi, Eddy…"

There was a painfully obvious nervousness in the child's voice, and Estonia knew that it would be a long time before Latvia would trust him again. The boy had no reason to trust him, a murderer. He would not blame Latvia if the little boy never spoke to him again.

"Hello," he said, and Latvia sat up, a strange and unexpected concern evident in his violet eyes.

"Eddy, you're crying."

"Yeah," Estonia said. "It's…been... It's been an i-interesting night."

Latvia nodded, and Estonia noticed that the small boy was trembling.

"It was kind of scary," he said. "You know, a lot of my people have been s-shot before. I didn't realize how many."

Estonia nodded.

"I remember a lot of people who died by stabbing," he said quietly. "I was out for a while a-after…"

"That's right…" Latvia said slowly. "I forgot. L-Lithuania killed you that one time, didn't he?"

"Yes. I…" Estonia somehow could not bring himself to say it. What he had done to Latvia was simply too horrible, and the child was still so pitifully young… He did not want to speak of what he had done to this child.

"Eddy, I don't blame you," Latvia announced.

"You what?" Estonia asked, watching his little brother warily.

"I don't blame you," Latvia repeated, looking straight at Estonia. "I know it wasn't your fault. You… You didn't mean to hurt me, right, Eddy?"

"N-no… I did," Estonia murmured, waiting for the hatred to become manifest in Latvia's eyes. It did not come.

Latvia cocked his head, looking slightly confused.

"Why?" he asked. "D-did I do something wrong?"

Estonia felt the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again, and tried to fight them back, not wanting to cry in front of the tiny, innocent Latvian, the child he had murdered and now had to explain his actions to.

"No, Lati. I… I thought…"

"Did you think I was Mr. Russia?" Latvia blurted. "Is that why you were so mad? Do I act like Mr. Russia, Eddy?!"

"No… No!" Estonia cried. The tears were spilling from his eyes, now, and he wanted nothing more than to embrace Latvia. But he stayed still, not daring to get close to the child for fear of hurting him.

"Then… Why?" Latvia whispered. "I don't understand…"

"I don't either," Estonia said, his voice very quiet, tears running down his face. "I don't know why I have to be like this, Lati. I… I'm sorry… I didn't ask for this."

"I know," Latvia said. "I know, Eddy, and I still know it's not your fault. I-is it even really Mr. Russia's?"

"I don't know," Estonia said. "I… I think he's probably… L-like me…"

"You're nicer than him," Latvia said. "A whole lot nicer."

The small boy smiled softly, and held out his hand to Estonia.

"Come here, Eddy. Please."

Estonia obeyed, moving slowly and carefully so as not to hurt his tiny brother.

"Sit with me!" Latvia chirped, patting the bed next to him. Estonia did not want to sit down. He wanted to run from the room. The lack of reproach in Latvia's every motion was simply too much to bear. He almost wanted to be hated, just so he could know that there was someone else who felt hatred as selfish as his own.

But he had to please Latvia, had to somehow atone for what he had done. And so he sat down next to his little brother.

Latvia reached up, his small, scarred hands stroking Estonia's face, wiping away the older Baltic's tears.

"Eddy, Eddy, don't cry," the boy whispered. "You're gonna be okay."

And hearing those words from Latvia, whom he had murdered, Estonia began to sob harder. And as he cried, broken and hurt and remorseful and wanting more than anything to reverse what he had done, to change what he had become, Latvia continued to wipe away his tears with one hand, stroking his hair with the other. Finally, the boy seemed to give up on helping Estonia stop crying, and simply put his arms around the bespectacled Baltic, rubbing Estonia's back soothingly.

"You're gonna be okay, Eddy," Latvia repeated. "I'll stay here with you, if you want. Until you get better, you know? Eddy, I'm not as much of a little kid as you think… I'll take care of you. Let me fix you, Eddy… I can fix you…"

 _"He sounds like Lithuania,"_ Estonia thought. _"He sounds just like Lithuania. He… Would he become like Lithuania for me? Would he want to, if he truly understood? I can't let him get too close… Not ever again. But… I need him… Oh, I need him so much. But he can't get too close… Never again can he get too close… He doesn't hate me yet, but he should, and in time he will…"_

He heard footsteps in the hallway, and then, he heard Ukraine's voice.

"Eduard? I just wanted to tell you… Lithuania will be all right. He's sleeping right now, and he's all fixed up, all right?"

Estonia nodded, but did not turn to look at Ukraine. He did not want her to see him cry again.

"Thank you, Katya," he murmured, and then, he waited in silence until her footsteps retreated down the corridor, and then died out altogether. And then, he remained silent for a moment longer, his body shaking with sobs as he felt Latvia's fragile arms around him.

"Eddy," Latvia said, sounding serene and calm and _so grown up_ , "I am going to fix you."

"You can't, Raivis," Estonia sobbed, "You can't. No one can."

"Maybe not," Latvia said, "But I don't want anybody to get hurt, Eddy… So I can try to fix you, can't I?"

Estonia drew a deep, shuddering breath.

"Yes, Raivis," he whispered, "You can try."

* * *

 **Whew, this chapter is almost as long as a "Written in Blood" chapter usually is! That's...really long.**

 **So, lots of headcanons and stuff in here. I'll try to explain a couple things:**

 **In this universe, Estonia did have romantic feelings for Finland in the past. I haven't thought about this one a lot, so I'm not completely sure what went down between them, or if Finland is even aware of Estonia's feelings... But it's pretty obvious to Estonia that Finland chose Sweden over him. Ukraine, on the other hand, sees Estonia as a sibling or a child, and wants to take care of him the way a mother would care for her child. Estonia has managed to figure this out as well, and knows that neither Finland nor Ukraine love him romantically. He, on the other hand, has had romantic feelings for both of them at different times in the past.**

 **Also, I need to credit Hinotori-hime for her amazing insight on Lithuania's self-harming. A lot of the ideas behind why he's hurting himself are hers, and they're quite brilliant ideas, in my opinion. :)**

 **Basically, as he pointed out to Russia in "Web of Delusions", Lithuania has been hurting so long that he is no longer capable of feeling anything besides pain. Without the pain, he most likely feels empty. And feeling empty, I know from personal experience, is a lot worse than feeling pain. Why, I do not know, but it is. So he is hurting himself so that he can feel something, even if it is a negative emotion. Also, Lithuania has been forcing himself to smile and pretend that he is all right for a very long time. The only time when it was okay to cry or scream was when Russia was hurting him. And now that Russia is no longer hurting him, he has to hurt himself in order to show his emotions.**

 **I think all that made sense...?**

 **I believe that's all for now, so I hope you've enjoyed! Also, thank you for all your wonderful reviews! :) Going by an average reviews per chapter ratio, this is my most popular story, so thank you all!**


	5. Crime and Punishment

**I think everyone thought I'd abandoned this fic. Well, I am back! I've had this installment in the works for a while, and just finished it up today.**

 **As always, triggers abound, mainly for abuse, suicidal thoughts, and self-harm. (Self-harm is the big one. Guess who this chapter is about.)**

 **Title is taken from the Vocaloid song of the same name, which, while it doesn't totally fit this story, is still definitely worth a listen. (It is about suicide...) I listened to that song a LOT while writing this. I'm not sure why, but the lyrics do fit in some respects, so yeah. 'Crime and Punishment' is not a half bad song.**

 **That being said, on with the story!**

* * *

Crime and Punishment

He broke his own heart with every slice of the knife. He knew that he should not do this to himself, and yet he could not stop it.

He was in agony, a terrible agony of mind and soul, and he could not escape it. He also could not escape the dreadful emptiness in his heart, the emptiness that came to drown out the pain for a time, but eventually left again, allowing the pain to overtake his tortured body once again.

He knew that if he saw one of his brothers doing this, he would be sickened and horrified. But doing this to himself, he could not feel that way. He was hurting, terribly so, and he needed to be able to cry out, to manifest his agony visibly.

He could not do that without bleeding, for the ability to cry without being in physical pain had been beaten from him, stolen by a man who had not realized that by trying to help the boy with the sunshine eyes, he had in fact destroyed that boy forever.

Lithuania wanted to die.

He could see no way out of the deadly, painful madness that was his existence on earth. There were possibilities, of course, ways that he could one day find peace on earth, but those possibilities seemed very unlikely. He had been hurt so many times, betrayed and beaten by so many. He could not imagine a reality where he was not hurt like that. There might be one, somewhere, in which the nation of Lithuania became strong again, and remained so forever.

But that thought was a fool's idealism, and that future did not exist. He knew this to be certain. Happiness could not exist for him. He was a nation who had been doomed to exist only to be hurt by others.

For he was Lithuania, the boy whose savior complex had caused him to attempt to save all others, even at the cost of his own sanity, and yet he had not saved anyone, although he had tried. Everyone he loved had broken, or had been brutally torn from him. One person in particular had left him when he had finally been certain that she would stay, and that had left an irreparable wound on his heart.

But the deepest pain of all was that of the knowledge that his little brothers would never be the same. Their scars and fears could not be erased, and it was only so because he had not protected them.

If he had only been there to protect them, Estonia would not be broken or insane, and Latvia would not be addicted to alcohol.

And the agony of this knowledge had led him here. Lithuania sat under the sink in an out of the way bathroom, somewhere in the building where the world meeting was currently taking place. His wrists were slit and bloody, and he did not care.

No one ever came into this bathroom, here in the back of the building.

No one was here to hear him scream, to hear him cry, to hear him beg for them to save him.

He was alone with the agony he felt, abandoned, his only companion the blood that dripped from his wrists onto the cold floor.

And Lithuania believed that he deserved this fate.

* * *

Obsessive stalking became a much harder task when the person one was stalking happened to frequent crowded, semi-public places. Most especially when the stalker herself was in said crowded place for reasons that did not completely involve stalking.

Such was Belarus' predicament at this moment. She was finally able to pursue Russia with the same vigor that she had before…

 _"Before Toris Laurinaitis became so very important to you. Before you murdered him,"_ whispered the voice of Belarus. _"Never forget, Natalya. You must stay locked inside of me so that you can never again injure your beloved."_

Before she had loved Lithuania, before she had rejected him to further his own safety, she had stalked Russia with a frightening passion. It had taken her a long time to work back up to such a height of false love for someone she secretly despised, but now…

Now she had done it. She was once again at full Russia-stalking potential.

And she had lost him in the world meeting.

They had just decided to take a lunch break, and Russia had disappeared before Belarus could pinpoint his whereabouts. Thus, she was forced to search the halls, calling loudly for the man whom Belarus loved, and Natalya both loathed and pitied.

"Big brother! Brother, where are you?"

Russia, it seemed, was hiding from her. This was no surprise. She knew very well that she was frightening to him, but, in a way, it was her revenge on him for hurting Lithuania and every other former Soviet nation. This was her revenge, but it was also her way of protecting Lithuania.

She could not protect Lithuania if she was not near Russia, making certain that he never touched the boy again. She could not make certain that Russia was not hurting Lithuania if she could not locate her brother.

And when her initial search of the premises yielded no sign of Russia, Belarus was forced to resort to tactics that only a maddened stalker would.

She began to search the men's restrooms.

And when her search still bore no results, she found herself in the back of the building, where she had discovered a final, seemingly completely unnoticed restroom. Unnoticed, it would seem, by all except Russia, whom she expected to find hiding from her in this particular quiet place.

She did not find Russia, although Russia was what she had both expected and hoped to find.

Instead of the object of Belarus' violent affections, she found the one human whom Natalya cared deeply for.

Lithuania was sitting under one of the sinks, farthest from the door. He did not look up as Belarus entered, nor did he seem to register her presence. She stiffened, intending to leave the room before he saw her and began asking stupid questions, as he always did.

Then she saw how dull his eyes were, and immediately afterwards, she noticed a dark liquid spattered on the floor around him and on his uniform.

At first, she blamed Russia. It had to be Russia-who else would abuse Lithuania until he bled?

Then she noticed that the only cuts on the brunet Baltic's body were the deep, jagged ones across his wrists.

And she knew with a horrible certainty that he had hurt himself. She saw scars beneath the bleeding cuts, and knew that those scars had not been there when they were all but a part of Russia's Soviet Union. She had seen to it that Russia had not been left alone with Lithuania since then, and so…

Lithuania had given himself those scars. It made sense, in a way, considering the fact that he was hiding here, alone, in a forgotten restroom in the back of the building. And the knife at his side was further proof of what he had done.

The dull, sad look in his eyes terrified her, for she remembered the day when they had rescued him from Russia, and that same look had been in his eyes then. He had been in pain then, and he was in the same pain now.

She did not think of leaving him, for even Belarus could not do that. Natalya would not let Belarus leave Lithuania alone to suffer, no matter how much Belarus wanted to abandon the boy, and so, she sprang forward, noticing that Lithuania had not registered her presence.

"Don't do that," she growled, standing in front of Lithuania, hands on her hips.

He looked up at her, and she saw tears in his eyes, a dark and terrible agony written in his every feature.

"Why would you stop me, Belarus?" he asked, very quietly. "What gives you the right?"

She knew that she had hurt him, then, or at least, a flickering suspicion of guilt crossed her mind.

 _"Did I do this to him?"_

"What gives you the right to do that to yourself?" she challenged, glaring at him. "What gives you that right? What makes this action right, Lithuania? Why… Why would you even do that?"

"Why would you ask?" he whispered raggedly, eyes dull and sad. "You don't care."

She wanted to slap him, but more than that, she wanted to berate herself for ever getting close to him, for ever providing him a reason to hurt as he did.

 _"But perhaps I did not do this to him. Perhaps it was something else, perhaps the abuse…"_

"Perhaps I do not," she said impassively. "But your brothers do, and I would not like to see Latvia suffer, seeing you hurt yourself. You do not want that either, do you?"

"He'll never find out," Lithuania whispered. "I'll keep him from finding out. He'll never see beneath the bandages, he doesn't have to know…"

"He will find out," Belarus said. "He will find out as I found out about what Russia did to you. Latvia is not nearly as imperceptive as you believe, Lithuania. For his sake, stop this foolishness."

She turned to go, hoping that he would listen to her, but she was halted by the sound of his voice.

"Natalya… Wait."

She looked back unwillingly, the Natalya persona hating the action almost as much as the Belarus character did. The time had come to face Lithuania's idiotic questions, and neither Natalya nor Belarus liked that idea.

"What is it now?" she growled.

"Why do you hate me?" Lithuania whispered, and suddenly, he was crying again, tears running down his face, blood flowing from his arm. And Belarus was frightened for him.

"Lithuania…"

"Tell me why!" his voice was broken, she had never heard his voice so broken. It hurt. She had never seen him like this, not even in Russia's house, and it was _horrible_.

She had thought he was recovering from what had happened. She had thought he was better. But no, here he was, sobbing under the bathroom sink, with his wrists cut, broken. Broken because of her, or because of Russia? She did not know; she did not want to know. If it was her doing, the guilt would destroy her.

"I do not know why, Toris Laurinaitis," she said, and she hated herself for the coldness of her voice, for the impassivity that would surely injure Lithuania's frail and sensitive heart. "I only know that I cannot love you. Please attempt to understand."

He moaned quietly, buried his head in his hands, and she could take it no longer. Stooping, she picked up the bloodied knife from the floor, ignoring his whimper of protest. For a moment, she paused, feeling a sudden urge to take him in her arms, to embrace him, to kiss away all of his sorrow and to _just protect him_.

She could do none of that. It was her knife that had stabbed him once, and she would not allow that to happen again. If his self-abuse was her fault, then let it be so. She would not endanger him further, not because of a foolish dream.

She could never love him, and so she turned away and walked from the bathroom, ignoring the way his sobs grew louder and more piteous, like those of an abandoned child.

She left him alone, knowing that without his knife, he could not cause himself more physical harm. She also knew that he believed she hated him, and she still felt a twinge of guilt inside for what she might have done to him.

* * *

Belarus found Estonia standing at a window in the front of the building. The boy-once insane, now terribly sad-was staring out at the world beyond him. There was a terrible, sorrowful loneliness in his eyes, and it reminded Belarus of Russia.

But Estonia was not Russia; Estonia was more fragile and more broken and he must be treated with care. Yet he was the only person who could go to help Lithuania, or so Belarus believed.

She took a step toward him, intending to tell him that his brother was bleeding out on the bathroom floor, only to be halted by the sound of a cheerful voice.

"Hey, Natalya!"

The world's second most annoying nation stood behind her, looking immensely cheerful. America was obviously completely unaware of Lithuania's uncertain status.

Belarus turned to him, still impassive, and spoke.

"Lithuania is bleeding out on the bathroom floor. He did it to himself. I suggest you speak to him about what self-harm will do to him. I assume you know about it, Alfred. You have a large country. Certainly someone in your nation has harmed himself at some time. Go to your precious Lithuanian, see that he is no longer happy, and for God's sake be the hero you pretend to be for him."

She swept past America, who stared after her, a question in his eyes. She passed Estonia, and saw that the young Baltic was sobbing quietly now.

"He does not do what he does because of you," she murmured. "You do understand that?"

"Of course he does it because of me," Estonia said, his voice quiet. "I started this. He would not have been broken had I not done what I did. I know, Belarus. Do not try to shield me from a darkness which has already consumed me. Save Lithuania instead. You might be the only one who can."

She left him there, at the window, and hurried onward, desperate to find a place where, perhaps, she might turn Lithuania's knife on herself.

 _"If you have done this to him… You ought to pay for your crimes. But of course, Natalya, you are too weak to pay. So you will hide, you will forget his sorrow, and you must never go back to him. It is for his safety."_

* * *

Lithuania heard the door open again, but he did not move, did not even open his eyes. He no longer cared what they thought of him. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Let them see that he had harmed himself. He did not care.

And then the voice of a child who wanted to be a hero made him question his own indifference.

"Oh my God, Toris…"

It was America who had found him, America who embraced him, and Lithuania remembered that America had once stood by and allowed Russia to take him back. He could not blame the boy. He understood that America had been hurting then, that America's people had been hurting, and that there had been nothing the boy could do.

And yet, it still hurt. There was a great deal of hurt inside of him now, and he could no longer choke it back. It was released through the red gashes on his arm, and that was the only way that it could ever be released.

"A… Alfred." He kept the hurt from his voice. It was not America's fault. America was a child, an innocent child, and it was not his fault. He must not blame America.

"Hey, Sunshine," America's voice was soft and gentle and _safe_ …

Lithuania had not felt safe in a very long time. And he did not know how America could call him 'Sunshine' when his eyes were dulled and his entire body was broken.

"It hurts, Alfred," he said, and he knew how pitiful he sounded.

"I know, buddy," America said. "I know it hurts. But it'll get better, okay? You gotta believe that. It's gonna get better soon. Hang on."

America did not know how to save him, Lithuania realized. But America somehow, childishly, believed that he could be fixed. The boy did not yet know the full extent of his agony, did not know the severity of the scars that marred Lithuania's body.

He would have to know, and Lithuania would tell him.

But not now. He could not tell America now. His wrists were bloodied; his heart was broken. Belarus had spoken, and Belarus said that she would not love him.

He did not have the strength to explain this to America now. But he mimicked the motion of putting a gun to his head, and America understood.

"I know," America said. "I know it really hurts. I don't know what he did to you, and you don't have to tell me, okay? But if you want to, if you need to, I'll be here. I'll fix you, okay, Toris? Hang on. Just hang on…"

 _"But what if I can never be fixed, Alfred? What…then? Will I suffer forever? Someone please tell me, and if I am to suffer, tell me in what way I can end my life."_

There might not be a way to end the pain. But he would still search for that ending, nonetheless. He had to try to release himself from torment, or else exist forever in agony.

But for now, he was tired. And so he let America embrace him as he cried, blood flowing from his wrists until he finally drifted into a blood-red slumber.

* * *

 **So, that was painful, da?**

 **Anyways, I am going to attempt to maybe update this a little more often! So, anyone want a oneshot on Russia, since he hasn't appeared yet in this story at all? I have a vague idea involving him, so I may try to write it up and post it soon.**

 **Until then, Written in Blood updates weekly as always! See ya round!**


	6. Haunted

**Hey, I actually updated this in less than a month! Miracles do occur!**

 **Well, this is the promised Russia chapter. I'm actually writing in a slightly different style this time-there are some run-on sentences, and that was intentional.** **Also, most everything that is italicized is Russia's thoughts. I didn't put quotes around his thoughts in this fic, as it's centering almost completely around him, and I wanted it to feel a bit more...unstable. Hence the lack of quotes around his thoughts, and the run-on sentences. (They're not that bad. They're what happens a lot in my more tense scenes. xD)**

 **That being said, I honestly don't think there are many triggers in this one. Other than the usual Baltics abuse issues. So yeah. Enjoy!**

* * *

It hurt. Deep in his chest, in his heart, the knowledge of what he had done. He could not contain it, nor could he deny it. He could not deny what he had done.

He had murdered people. It was not in war, nor was there any excuse for the things he did. These were supposed to be his allies, his friends.

And he killed them. He locked them up and abused them and he _killed them_.

And now he was sorry. He was sorry and he saw them in his hallucinations, the boys whom he had abused. He saw them and he came back to the real world screaming that he was sorry, only to see in front of him the bloodstains on the floor from all the times he hurt them. He wondered if any of the blood was his, remembered that Estonia had shot him in the shoulder, and he cursed himself for ever allowing things to get that far, for allowing Estonia to go insane.

He realized that he had not just allowed Estonia to go insane. He had caused it, as his own insanity had been caused long ago. He had driven a seventeen year old boy mad, and he had done it by using his own worst fear as a weapon against Estonia.

"I t-told him that no one would ever…ever be loving him," he murmured, standing at his window, looking out into the cold, cruel twilight that came just before dawn. "I told him something that was cruel and he believed me. So he was insane because of me… Da?"

He had formed a habit of talking to himself aloud, now that his family was gone.

"They were not my family. I m-made them stay. They did not want to be staying. I made them. I forced them to stay and I hurt them for trying to leave. It was a very bad thing."

He told himself that so that he could not forget. He wanted to forget, he wanted to stop waking in the night screaming for Lithuania. Sometimes he wanted Lithuania to help him. Other times he wanted to tell the brunet boy that he had not meant it, he honestly had not meant it, he had not realized…

He should have known that the abuse would drive the Baltics insane. He should have known, but he had been like a child then, and he had not understood…

"It is not my childishness that it to be blamed," he said. "Nor can I be blaming anyone other than myself."

A tear slid down his cheek, and he stared out at the breaking dawn, wondering if he had imagined that tear. He was Russia, great and powerful. He did not cry.

But he was not so powerful, not now. He was still a large nation, of course; he always would be, unless something truly terrible befell him.

But his family was gone. They had never been a real family, but now they were gone, and he hated being alone, hated it so much that he cried for them to come back and then cursed himself for the selfishness that had led to all of this pain.

"It is I who am to be blamed," he said to the rising sun. "I am the one who has driven them all to this. Who drove _me_ to this? It does not matter at this time. Perhaps I was driving myself to it. But I cannot forget that I did such things as I did. If I forget, then the time will be coming when I will go to them and drag them back, and they will once again hate me."

He must never forget. But he must find a way to make it so that he did not wake up, see the bloodstained floor, and think immediately of the children he had tormented in this mansion.

He had neglected the mansion since his family had left him, and now he wandered the house, trying to find a single room where he would not see a terrible memory.

The dining room. A memory of Estonia was there, dropping a tray of dishes and shouting at him, and then screaming- _he was_ _screaming, a seventeen year old boy who should not have known pain_ -as Russia beat him. Estonia's insanity had started that day, Russia thought. It had been sealed on a dark night when Russia had told the blond boy that no one would ever love him.

The kitchen. He had come there cheerfully, and they had been angry with him for imprisoning Lithuania, for denying his sunshine-eyed friend the freedom he so deserved.

Out into the hallway. Estonia had followed him, begged to exchange places with Lithuania, and Russia had beaten the boy again. How many times he had beaten Estonia? How many times the boy had screamed for help that would not come? How many times had Estonia begged for the mercy that Russia would not give?

He still carried his faucet pipe in his coat-an old habit that he could not shake. But he took out the weapon with which he had destroyed a seventeen year old boy and he hated himself for what he had done. He hated himself and looked for someone else to blame, but he remembered that he must only blame himself, and he also must never forget what he had done to the three young boys known as the Baltic States.

He threw the faucet pipe on the floor, hating himself and his weapon, and he saw a bloody haze envelop the hallway. He should not have taken out the pipe. It was happening, and _he could see Estonia_. He had never realized how loud the boy screamed, how agonized the screams sounded, how much he had tortured those _children_ …

He ran from the memory, the hallucination, whatever it might be, and he did not stop running until he was in his own room. He did not realize that he should not have come there until he had locked the door behind him. Then he realized that the house was still covered in blood, his hands were still covered in blood, and Lithuania- _Toris, Toris with the sunshine eyes and the ever-present smile_ -Lithuania was on the floor screaming and crying and _laughing_ …

He had driven his only friend insane. He had turned his friend into his plaything, and he knew now just how cruel he had been to the only person he had really loved.

The hallucination of Lithuania fell to the floor with a bullet in his head. Russia whimpered. He wanted the blood to go away, he wanted to stop seeing these phantoms of the people whom he had imprisoned and hurt. He wanted to believe that none of it had ever happened.

He had to forget it, and yet he _must not forget_. If he were to forget, he would hurt them all again. And they were all so fragile now, so broken, even poor Lithuania.

Especially Lithuania, and he must blame himself for that, for he had tormented the sunshine-eyed Baltic most of all. He had not really meant to, had thought that he was helping them in his insanity.

He had been so cruel, and _how could I have done that to my Toris?_

He was a monster, a monster who had murdered his only friend, and he deserved to live all alone in his mansion for the rest of his life, deserved to suffer for all eternity.

That would still not be a deep enough punishment for what he had done to the Baltics, to his sisters, to the whole Soviet Union. It would not erase the torment they had felt, the terror in their hearts. He could not take it back.

But he could stay in his mansion, where he could never hurt any of them again.

* * *

Eventually, they came and they made him leave. He never knew who they were. By the time they came, he was half-dead. He had thought, when the food ran out, that this was the end. He would be allowed to die here, all alone, and he would stay dead until such a time as he was sane again, until such a time as he could apologize and promise to never hurt the others again.

But then those people came and made him leave his mansion. They said that they would tear it down, said that he did not need it anymore, now that his family was gone.

He knew they were right, but he wanted to stay there, in that broken mansion with all its memories. He was not ready to let go of the blood-red phantoms lurking around every corner, although they hurt him

He was not ready to let go of his family.

But they made him leave, took him to a new house, which was small and quiet. There were no bloodstains. There were no phantoms. And he was desperate for company, so desperate that when America called him, grumbling about the world meeting, he decided to go.

America did not like him. He did not like America. Perhaps shouting at America would make him feel better.

But then, he knew, he was not supposed to shout at anyone. He had had shouting matches with Lithuania, and they had always ended with the boy on the floor with whip marks on his back and _I was so cruel to him. How could I do that to him? How could I?_

But he would go to the world meeting. It would be a good excuse to check on the others, on his…

 _They are not my family. I lost that right when I drove them all insane._

* * *

He woke late on the morning of the world meeting, and he only woke at all because of a nightmare.

The hallucinations had left him when he left the Soviet house behind. But the nightmares had come in earnest then, and he hated those nightmares, for they were more vivid than the hallucinations, more real, somehow.

He dreamed of Lithuania. He woke with tears in his eyes, hating himself for what he had done.

All in all, once he had recovered from the dream, he was three hours late to the meeting. He stood alone outside the closed doors of the conference room, not wanting to enter, but also knowing that he had no choice.

He pushed open the door, and he found himself staring into the eyes of America, who stood onstage. Those eyes, electric blue and full of youthful innocence, narrowed as he entered. Russia stood frozen by that gaze, surprised by the hate he saw in America's eyes. He did not understand where such a personal hatred could have come from. What had he ever done to America?

Then Belarus came hurtling across the room in a whirl of blue and white fabric.

"Brother! You came!"

She was the only one who greeted him. A few of the nations-unconnected European nations who had not been a part of the Soviet Union-waved to him, but they were half-hearted, uncertain waves.

Most of the former Soviets would not even look at him, and as he noticed this, he realized that he had not shoved Belarus away, that she was still clinging to him, staring up at him adoringly.

 _Why…?_

He realized with a jolt how wrong this was, that Belarus was clinging to him even now.

 _She loves Toris. She is supposed to be with Toris. What happened? Where is he?!_

He scanned the room desperately, searching for the Lithuanian, and he _cannot find him_.

Then he saw the boy, the sunshine-eyed boy whom he had destroyed, and he saw how it was that he had missed his Lithuania before, sitting in a sea of other nations. And he saw why it was that there had been hate in America's eyes.

This was not the Lithuania he had known. The Baltic boy was hunched over, his head bowed, staring numbly down at the table. He was so pale, so still…

 _There is no sunlight in Toris's eyes. What…have I done?_

Latvia was sitting next to him, and Estonia was on Latvia's other side. Russia saw that it was Estonia who shook, Estonia who cowered away and looked as if he might faint from terror. Latvia merely stared at him, and in the tiny Baltic's large, purple eyes, Russia saw a sad, mature resignation which he had never seen before in Latvia.

Little Latvia had grown up. Estonia had broken. All of this was his fault.

He looked back at Lithuania, and he saw that the boy had lifted his head, that Lithuania's dull green eyes were fixed on him and Belarus. He saw utter anguish in those eyes, he saw confusion, and he knew then that Belarus had rejected Lithuania in favor of him, perhaps even _to protect Lithuania from me?_

He had never hated himself more than he did at that moment. Lithuania's dull eyes met his, and the Baltic boy smiled a broken smile, before lowering his head again.

Lithuania looked _so broken_. It was horrible.

Russia clung to Belarus, and, looking down at her, he saw disgust behind the admiration in her eyes. His sister was pretending. She loathed him too, and yet for some reason, she had chosen him over Lithuania, who was broken and desperately needed her.

They all hated him. He deserved to be hated. And yet Lithuania, the nation who most deserved to be happy, had been rejected by the girl he loved. That girl was clinging to Russia now, and he could not let go of her.

Belarus might not be 'family' anymore. But she had come back to him. He could not let go.

He clung to his little sister, conscious of the fact that all of the other nations were watching him. He tried not to cry.

He failed.

* * *

Russia hated lunch breaks. They made it painfully obvious how alone he was now, without his Soviet Union. They were not 'his'; he had been wrong to think of them that way.

But now they were gone, and he was alone.

He did not intend to eat, for eating was not necessary to the survival of a nation. He would exist no matter what, the personification of a painful memory. He hated his own childish features, a reminder of the childish cruelty that had broken the Baltics.

He rounded a corner and ran straight into a small nation. Russia closed his eyes, praying that whoever he had run into was not one of the former Soviets.

Praying did not help him. He opened his eyes and found Lithuania standing there. For a moment, they said nothing, and Russia watched the boy, noticing how pitifully thin Lithuania was, how his hands shook.

 _There are bandages on my Toris's wrists. I… No. Please, no._

"Toris…" he breathed, staring at the bandages, and the Lithuanian's sad green eyes followed his own gaze.

"Don't worry, Ivan."

The same kind smile, except that smile was so dull and empty now, so broken and hurt.

"It will heal."

Russia wanted to take Lithuania in his arms, wanted to hold the boy and apologize for everything he had done. But he could not. He had lost that right. And if he were to touch Lithuania, surely the boy would recoil from him.

He would not be able to stand that. And Lithuania- _kind, beautiful Toris with the sunshine eyes_ -Lithuania did not have strength or courage enough to comfort him, to fix him. Not anymore.

And so he stood silent, feeling tears come to his eyes at the sight of Lithuania's bandaged wrists, at the knowledge that, beneath the boy's uniform, there were deep scars, which he himself had cut into the Baltic boy's body.

He had done all of this to Lithuania. And he could not even find the words to apologize.

"Ivan."

Lithuania's voice was soft, wary, and yet, there was still a bit of warmth there, behind the heavy sadness.

"Yes, Litva?"

"I am just Lithuania now," the boy corrected, his voice gentle. "And I forgive you."

* * *

 **So, that was...fun. Russia is fun to write, sane or insane or just plain angsty.**

 **Umm... There may be a sequel. I do not know. I am debating writing a sequel, because I feel that while this shows his current mentality well, it doesn't necessarily show how he managed to get better from his insanity. I'm sure I'll write about Ivan again at some point-he's way too fun to write for me to ignore him for the remainder of this fic.**

 **I'm not completely sure what next time will be, but it will either be more Russia or...something that is difficult to explain. You'll see in time. :)**

 **Until next time! :)**


	7. Hallucinations

**Hey, guys! So... I didn't really expect to update this right now, but I managed to get this written and revised, so, here you go.**

 **This installment once again focuses on Russia, although it takes place chronologically before the previous oneshot. So yeah.**

* * *

Russia stared at the gun in his hand and remembered the last person it had killed.

That person was not dead, but he _had_ been killed. It did not make sense even to him, but he knew that it was true. There was death without death for them, and so dying accomplished nothing. His wish to die was pointless, for his death could accomplish nothing. Dying did nothing except hurt him for a moment. Then he would sink into a nightmare, and when he woke from the nightmare, he would live again in a cold, cruel world.

He wondered how many times he would see _them_ in the nightmare. He wondered how many times he would see the children he had murdered.

 _Toris murdered himself, didn't he? It wasn't my fault, was it? It can't be my fault… Nyet, but it was my fault. I drove him to it. I hurt him and I drove him so far that he could not think anymore, and so he killed himself._

His only friend had killed himself with this very gun, and although Lithuania was not dead, he knew that that _changes nothing. I murdered him. That is all. I murdered him. Whether or not he is immortal, that does not matter. I murdered him. I murdered them all._

He had been alone for far too long, he supposed, if he was thinking of this even now, staring at a gun with which he planned to shoot himself. But he had nothing else to think about. His family- _they were never a family, you do not have the right to think of them as a family_ -was gone. They had deserted him, as they had every right to.

He had no one but himself to blame for his loneliness, but still, it hurt, and still, he longed for companionship, for warmth, for life.

He found himself daydreaming of Lithuania, dreaming of going to the boy's house. He could go there, he could easily break in… And then _I could bring my Litva back to live with me!_ _Da, it will be better if Lithuania comes back to me. Lithuania belongs with… No. No!_

He shoved the gun against his temple, heart pounding, violet eyes wide, staring into the mirror and seeing not a child's face, but the face of a monster.

 _I'm a monster I'm a monster I murdered him and I can't ever have him back how could I even think that…?_

"How could I think that?" he whispered. "How could I… How could I even consider forcing him to come back. I… I would be crushing him. It would be too cruel… I cannot do that to him! I cannot let myself be thinking it. I…"

 _…Am so tired of having this loneliness. I want Litva back. Come back, Toris! Don't leave me alone!_

He could have sworn that he saw Lithuania falling to the ground with a smile, sunshine in his eyes a few seconds…

The image shattered when Lithuania hit the ground, and Russia did not understand. But he thought that there might be truth in the hallucination, that perhaps Lithuania would only be happy when he was _free of me. I murdered him. I murdered him and I do not deserve to live, but I want him back so much… Toris, come back!_

"No…" he whimpered, staring at the monster in his mirror. The image flashed back and forth; he was Ivan no longer. He was now a nameless monster, something even more depraved and evil than even Russia could be. He was a creature of evil, he had done terrible things, and _I murdered my best friend I am a monster I deserve to die someone kill me…_

The gun was still pressed against his temple, cold against his shaking body, and he wondered if this was how Lithuania had felt, pulling the trigger on himself. But no, he knew that Lithuania had not been afraid. Lithuania had been glad to end the pain, and there had been no fear in the Baltic's broken laughter.

"I'm sorry," Russia whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kill you…"

 _You meant it. When you broke him, you meant to. You meant to break all of them. You…_

A whispering ghost of the boy named Toris was there now, standing behind him, covered in blood, and Russia _cannot look at him._

"You killed me, Ivan," said the ghost-Lithuania. "You killed me."

"I know!" he wailed. "I know, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Litva, I'm really, really sorry!"

"But it's too late," said Estonia's voice. He was standing behind the mirror- _inside the mirror?_ -his own gun pointed at his head, mirroring Russia. "It's far too late for me… For Toris… for Raivis… It's too late for all of us… And it's all your fault."

Russia started to cry. _Please stop. Do not do this to me again. I'm sorry…_

"Mr. Russia?"

He whirled round, looking for Latvia, saw the little boy sitting on the floor, crying, blood and tears mingling on his face. The tiny child's hands were crushed, and _I remember that when I beat him to death. He would not scream. My little Raivis would not scream…_

"It r-really hurts," Latvia whimpered. "It doesn't ever stop hurting. Why'd you do it, Mr. Russia? Why'd you do this to us?"

"I don't know!" he wailed. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I really didn't, please…"

"Big brother."

 _No no no please no…_

Belarus faced him, her knife drawn. Ukraine had joined Estonia in the mirror, tears on her face, blood dripping down her arm onto the floor.

"You couldn't stop with the Baltics, could you?" his sisters said. "You couldn't stop with the others. It wasn't enough to hurt your comrades, your 'friends'. You had to kill us, too."

Belarus was crying. That scared Russia far more than seeing Ukraine cry. His big sister always cried. Belarus _never cried until I hurt Toris. She loved him and it is all my fault that they will never be together…_

"You murdered everyone," said the broken, shattered phantoms that had been his family. "You killed us. You… How could you?"

"I d-don't know!" Russia screamed. "Stop! Leave me alone! You're not real! You left me, you're not real!"

"We'll never leave you," Lithuania said. His wrists were bleeding now, and Russia did not understand that, did not understand why his family's wounds would not heal.

"We'll always be trapped inside the mansion," Estonia said. "We can't leave it behind. You made sure of that, Mr. Russia. You made sure we could never get better."

"It still hurts," Latvia whimpered.

Ukraine cried. Belarus took her knife and stabbed it into Lithuania's chest and _she stabbed him in real life trying to kill me, why didn't I just let her kill me…?_

 _I need to die._

"Yes," said Estonia, and Russia wondered how the boy could possibly have heard his thoughts. "You do need to die. You killed us all. Die, Russia. I hate you."

 _I hate me too, Eduard, I hate me too and I know I want to die but… I deserve it! I deserve to die, I need to die…_

 _THEN DIE!_

Latvia had picked up his discarded gun, crushed fingers running across the weapon's metal surface. The little boy cried softly, his sobs pleading and agonized, and Russia reached down, took the gun from the sobbing Latvian's hands, and turned toward the mirror.

For a moment, he paused, looking back into the shattered world that he knew must be a hallucination. He looked into the eyes of each of his family members, and saw in those eyes pain, sorrow, and insanity, _all caused by me_.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I never meant for it to be coming to this."

He lifted the gun to his head, and for a few seconds, he waited for Lithuania to save him. But the boy did not move, instead _Toris don't die, please, I'm trying to make it better… Don't die! Wake up!_

Latvia's sobs grew hysterical. In the mirror, Estonia was laughing. Ukraine was gone. _Estonia, did you kill her? I thought you… I don't know. None of it makes sense, and it's all my fault._

Belarus looked at him with hatred in his eyes, and, with quiet anger, murmured, "Go die, big brother. I hate you for what you did to us."

He turned to the mirror again, and for a brief moment, Estonia was gone, and he saw only a monster in the glass. This was a monster that he recognized, and yet, it was a monster that was utterly foreign to him.

This monster's name was Ivan Braginsky, otherwise known as the personification of Russia, once the world's greatest nation, now broken and shattered and… _How can I be this lonely? It's not fair. But it is what I am deserving. I have always deserved it._

This monster had murdered his family.

This monster deserved to die.

Russia sobbed as he pulled the trigger, crying because he knew that his attempt to destroy the monster had already failed.

* * *

 **Eheheh... I hope that was all right. I don't write hallucinations much, particularly not coupled with suicide attempts, so this was a little tricky. Still, writing Russia is a lot of fun.**

 **It's my personal belief that while he was trying to recover his sanity after the USSR broke up, Russia became severely depressed and quite probably suicidal. This is also sort of based off of the one scene in Written in Blood where he tells Lithuania that he too has thought about or attempted suicide. So yeah. I...really cannot say anything else, except I hope you enjoyed this! (Even though it's sad.)**


	8. Irrecoverable

**Well. Today is October 1st. (2nd, for the Europeans who read this-I'm late on posting!) Now, one year ago today, I posted "Interference", officially beginning the "Soviet Insanity" series.**

 **I did not realize this until around ten this morning, so I typed this up quickly to commemorate the day. I don't think this is very good, but, eh. Something needed to be done.**

 **Also, while we're on the subject of fics, "Written in Blood" will not be updating this Saturday. I want this chapter to be good, and I'm going to be too busy to make it good within the next couple days. Therefore, expect the finale on October 10th.**

 **That being said, thank you all for your support throughout this year-it's been rough, but it's also been wonderful. I don't know where I would be without you guys, but it wouldn't be a good place. I've learned a lot about myself through writing "Soviet Insanity", and I would never have continued as long as I have without your support. So thank you. I love you all, and I hope you enjoy this little fic.**

 **~Shadows in the Light of Day**

* * *

Lithuania cut his wrists bloody every day when winter came. Winter reminded him of that house, of those walls, of the room where Russia had imprisoned and tormented him.

He remembered that snow had fallen, fresh and white and beautiful, on the day that he walked to his own destruction. Had he stayed there in the snow, with his brothers and with Ukraine and _Natalya_ , things might have been much different.

He might not have been so totally destroyed.

He might not have hated the winter. But he remembered snow winds howling outside the window as Russia tortured him, remembered his own panicked shrieks mingling with the wind. He remembered that no one had heard him scream.

They had not come to save him until it was too late, until he was already insane, ready to go to his death rather than suffer another day. He did go to his death, threw himself onto the knife meant for his torturer, a blade held by the girl he loved, and he somehow lost Belarus through that action.

He carved a deeper slice into his already brutalized arm, stared at his shaking fingers and remembered when those fingers had been severed, and then, when the fingers of his other hand had held a gun to his head as he made his first attempt at suicide.

He remembered Russia's cruel, childish, misunderstanding, well-meaning fingers. Russia had thought he was helping.

Russia had killed them all, ruined them all, but it was not his fault. It was Lithuania who was to blame; it always had been. He could have saved Estonia. He did not save Estonia, and Estonia went insane.

He did not save Latvia or Ukraine, and they both lost their innocence and became cowering, wide-eyed things that were somehow saner and more grown up than any of the others, all of whom had lost their minds, while those two, once so innocent, became adults who shouldered the burden that their broken family members could not bear. He had not protected them.

He had not protected Belarus, not that he could have. But perhaps she had wanted to be protected, and that was why she had left him. Because he had not protected her? He did not know. He only knew that he wanted her back.

He sliced deeper. Deeper, deeper, ever deeper, each slice a memory of his agony and of his failure. Estonia, screaming for him to help. Estonia, laughing as he pulled the trigger on Russia. Estonia, falling to the ground as he, Lithuania, drove a knife into his own little brother's heart.

Estonia, insane. If he had stopped it in the beginning, at that one moment when Estonia had to protect Latvia in his absence, none of it would have happened. That long scar that Ukraine tried so hard to hide-it would never have existed! Estonia would not be broken or hurt or frightened, and Latvia would still be the naïve child who wanted to build a snowman on winter days in Russia.

And Belarus… What would Belarus be? She would not love him. She would loathe him either way. But it would be better had she never loved him at all, had she never been his friend. He had thought he could keep her for his own, and so the pain of losing her had been all the more unbearable.

He could have stood her eternal rejection had he known that he had saved the others from their pain. But they were all insane or broken, and so he could not stand it. He could stand no pain, not now, and he knelt on the floor with a knife in his hand, stared at his bloodied arm, and remembered Russia.

Some days he still wanted to go back, back to all the pain, because he believed that if he went back, he could save Russia. Russia still looked so sad and broken, like a child, and Lithuania wanted to help him, to save him.

Russia might be the only person left for him to save. He could not help his brothers, he could not help Belarus, he could not help Ukraine. But maybe if he went back to the mansion, he could help Russia. Maybe there was one last person for him to save.

There might be one more chance for him to redeem himself, and yet, he did not want to go back. He would give anything to not have to go back, to keep from having to look upon that cold mansion again. He did not want to enter into that place, did not want to belong to Russia again. And yet he knew that if he could not save someone, then his existence was in vain. If he could save none of them… He was merely a failure.

The wind howled outside, and Lithuania sobbed, digging the knife deeper into his arm.

"I f-failed… I don't want to go back," he whispered. "We can never go back… Why can't we? Or, at least, why can't I? If not back in time, then back to the mansion. Back to Russia. I could help him. He needed me; he still does. I saw it in his eyes. He needs me… I have to… Go back…"

The knife clattered to the floor, and Lithuania looked down, shocked to see a blood pooling on the floor in front of him.

He never let himself bleed this much.

"A-a…"

He did not know who he was calling for, but it was Latvia who answered. Lithuania did not know how the boy had gotten into his house, but there he came, Estonia behind him, small feet pattering down the hallway.

He knew it was Latvia because of how quick and light the steps were. He knew Estonia was with Latvia because he could also hear heavier, slow, reluctant footsteps, and he knew them to be Estonia's. He knew how to recognize the footsteps of all the former Soviets, had learned long ago a way to tell whether it was Russia or Latvia or anyone in between coming down the hallway to his room. He had learned to anticipate cruel beatings and comforting embraces, deep despair and momentary comfort.

He tried to call out, tried to tell Latvia not to come in, but the little boy came anyways, violet eyes widening with concern and pity as he took in the scene.

"Oh, Toris…" Latvia's voice sounded so soft and childish, and so understanding. The understanding, the _pity_ in Latvia's voice, only served as a further reminder of how deeply Lithuania had failed.

"Why do you do this?" Estonia murmured, kneeling behind Latvia, who was crouching in the pool of blood, seemingly oblivious to the sticky liquid, despite the fears that had once paralyzed him.

"Eddy, Toris, ssh," Latvia said, his soft voice commanding attention despite its trembling quality. "Ssh. No talking right now, okay? Toris, don't cry. It's okay."

Lithuania collapsed into his tiny brother's arms, exhausted and weakened by blood loss, sobbing incoherently. He tried to apologize, and he supposed that Latvia understood what he was trying to say, because the tiny boy's eyes widened, then filled with sorrowful tears.

"Toris, you didn't fail, and it's not your fault, okay?"

* * *

Latvia turned to Estonia, saw the older boy kneeling behind him, tears filling the soft blue eyes that Estonia hid so well behind his thick glasses.

"Eddy, Toris needs bandages," he said. "Please get some, okay? I'll stay with him."

The first tear slid down Estonia's cheek.

"Eddy, you're being useful if you get bandages," Latvia said, using a sharper voice this time. "You are not being useful sitting here in this bloodstained room. Go get bandages and then come and sit in the bloody room, okay?

Estonia nodded, then stood up, paying no heed to the blood staining his pants.

"I'll be back," he murmured. "Don't let Toris die."

As if Latvia could let Lithuania die. He had already seen both his brothers die far too many times; he must never let it happen again. Never again. This was why he had sent Estonia away. He did not want to see the blond boy become angry with Lithuania. Nothing they could say or do would convince Lithuania that he had not failed, that he had instead played a most crucial role in getting all of them away from Russia in the end. Nothing they could say would erase Lithuania's pain, and Estonia's anger could only increase Lithuania's belief that he had failed. Latvia remembered when Estonia was still a gentle, if abrupt boy, nervous and smart and so _wonderful_ …

Estonia was a dark and tainted kind of wonderful, now. They were all a twisted wonderful, now, but Latvia remembered when they had all been an angelic wonderful, and so how much more must Lithuania, who saw the good even in the most tainted souls, remember how Estonia had been before?

They could not fix Lithuania, could not erase the dark, twisted quality of their existences, but Latvia would try nonetheless. He could at least attempt to make Lithuania see sense, although he knew it would do no good. Anything to keep his older brother awake until Estonia came back. Anything but allowing Lithuania to die again.

He had seen them both die so many times, while he had died only a handful of times. Several times at Russia's hands. Once at Estonia's. He tried not to blame either of them, and he could _never_ blame Estonia. Russia was harder. He had not seen Russia destroyed in front of him.

Perhaps that was the reason why Lithuania hurt himself. Because he had seen both Russia and Estonia destroyed, and had not been able to save either of them. It was certain that Lithuania blamed all of the others' pain on himself. And Lithuania was not to blame, no matter what he thought, and Latvia had to make him see…

"Toris."

Lithuania would not look up at him, merely sobbed harder, hands tangled in his long hair. Lithuania's hands and hair were bloodstained like his arms. Everything about Lithuania was blood-red, and Latvia remembered when 'Lithuania' meant green and gold sunshine. 'Lithuania' now meant blood-red pain.

"I'm sorry, Raivis."

Lithuania's voice was soft and agonized and broken, and Latvia reached out a slim, scarred hand and brushed Lithuania's hair away from his face, looking into the dulled, agonized green eyes of the older brother who had broken trying to save him, and finding no sunlight there.

 _"I have to make the sunlight come back."_

"Toris, please listen… It's not your fault that any of what happened, happened. It's not Eddy's fault or mine or Mr. Russia's, and it's really definitely not yours. So stop apologizing to me, _please_. You didn't ruin my innocence-you couldn't have. You're too good and kind and sweet to do that, and if my innocence got erased it's not your fault. It can never be your fault, because you tried the hardest of all to save everyone else. You know that. So how can you possibly blame yourself? Don't blame yourself, Toris! I hate it when you do this, when you hurt yourself, and I feel like it's because of me."

"No, Raivis, no…" Lithuania's breathing was getting heavier, pained and ragged, and Latvia realized that his brother was dying. He looked down at Lithuania's wrists, and saw, amidst the blood and gore from those horrible cuts, a single word.

'Failure'. Written once on each arm, blood-red against a background of puckered white, pink, and purple scars.

"Toris. No. I told you, it's not true. You are not a failure. You're my big brother and you're wonderful and you saved my life and… Toris, _don't_! Don't hurt yourself anymore! It makes me so sad and I know I can't fix you but it was never your fault and _please don't hurt yourself anymore_!"

"R… Rai…" Lithuania's entire body was trembling, and Latvia knew that his older brother was near unconsciousness. And there was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do, to heal Toris, not in mind or in body. The Lithuanian boy's mind was irreversibly scarred, and Lithuania himself made certain that his physical scars grew ever deeper, ever paler and more pronounced. There were so many scars, and although Latvia knew that the word Lithuania had engraved on his arm would fade into the background of tangled scars, he still hated it, hated the knowledge that Lithuania believed himself to be the cause of all the others' pain, when Lithuania was the embodiment of sunlight and safety and bravery.

"Hush, Toris," he murmured, reaching forward, moving Lithuania so that the larger boy's head was resting on his shoulder. "Hush. I know it hurts, I know you don't believe you're a good person, but you are. I love you, big brother. I always will. Please try to believe that, okay? Please?"

Lithuania said nothing, and Latvia held onto his older brother until Lithuania's weak sobs subsided. It never occurred to him to call for Estonia. Once Lithuania was this weak, there was nothing any of them could do for him. They could resurrect him, but that would take time.

And he did not want to see Estonia cry, as the blond Baltic surely would when he learned that they had failed to save Lithuania yet again.

* * *

Estonia rummaged through the cupboards in Lithuania's bathroom, searching for bandages. It was quite possible that Lithuania did not own any bandages, but he sometimes wore them on his wrists for world conferences, and, therefore, Estonia found it likely that Lithuania had some bandages stashed away somewhere.

He finally located the bandages when he noticed the sheer amount of blood on the knob of one of the bottom drawers. Everything in Lithuania's house seemed to have drops of blood on it, but this drawer was practically crimson with the stuff.

As Estonia stood up, he found himself staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He did not like what he saw. What had once been an introverted but confident teenage boy now looked like an exhausted ghost, with dark circles under its eyes. The eyes themselves unnerved Estonia, and he wondered if everyone could see the madness that he now saw, staring at his own reflection.

His expression was sad, tense, even agonized, and he wondered if such as broken boy was capable of smiling.

"When…was the last time that I smiled?" he murmured. He tried, then, to muster a smile, but found that he could not. He saw the corners of his mouth twitch, but he could not smile. Instead, tears rolled down his cheeks, and what should have been a laugh became a twisted, hysterical sob.

"I…have to…smile…" he whispered, leaning on the edge of the sink and staring at his sobbing reflection in the mirror. "I… T-Toris can't… So I have to…"

He sank to his knees, pale hands grasping the edge of the sink, and sobbed. He could not smile, could not laugh, could only cry. The only time he ever smiled was when he was in the grip of insanity, and a smile of insanity was not a smile of joy, but of pain and sorrow and a desire for revenge, all wrapped into one expression, one look.

He had never seen his own smile when he was insane, but he had seen Russia's, and he knew what insanity looked like. And still he had allowed himself to slip into it without questioning his own actions, his own madness.

"It's not Toris' fault," he whispered, staring at the blood-flecked cabinets and floor, a testimony to just how far his older brother had fallen. "It's not. He couldn't have saved me that day. He wasn't even awake. I-it's my fault. If I had been stronger… Stood up to Russia, gotten them all out… Instead of trying to kill them all… It would have been okay. Toris would be okay, we'd all be okay… I… I want to be myself again!"

He climbed to his feet, and the eyes that stared back at him from out of the mirror were not his own, but the broken, dead, soulless eyes of a terrible monster, tormented and caged inside a frail yet indestructible human form.

"I don't want to be this," he whispered. "I don't want any of us to be like this. W-when did it all start…? How long ago? It feels like forever, eternity. How long?"

 _"I never intended to interfere… But it wasn't as if I had much of a choice."_


End file.
